Musketeers
by A1066
Summary: AU: Olivia and Alex, one's a musketeer and one's a lady. Together, they get tangled up in all sorts of untoward things. A/O
1. Chapter 1

**AN: This is something super different for me, so I hope it turned out well. I want to warn everyone straight off, I know absolutely zero about France or history or anything like that. It is not meant to represent any sort of historical accuracy at all. Hopefully, you can all enjoy it anyway.**

Every single thing had to be perfect before she stepped out the door. Each strand of hair, each piece of clothing, every tie. Perfection was her only shield against the truth and what the truth would mean to the rest of the world. Her morning began with a brisk wash in the bowl of cold water set out for her in the morning. As a captain of the Musketeers, she was afforded a private room, though it was more the size of a closet and terribly drafty. Clean and refreshed from her morning ablution, she would wind a long strip of linen around her chest, flattening her breasts so her tunic would hang straight like a man. Each piece of clothing was carefully pressed and laid out the evening before so that she would never require the aid of a servant who might uncover her secret. She pulled on her black breeches and ran her palms across her thighs to smooth the wrinkles, just like every morning. Then she pulled her white blouse of her head and turned to check herself in the mirror. Her breasts were unnoticeable.

She tucked the shirt into her waistband just as there was a knock at the door. "Sir?" A voice called through the door, muffled by the wood. She gritted her teeth in frustration, the timing was poor.

"I'll be right out." She called over her shoulder as she turned to dress more quickly. Her hands moved faster than her mind and unsurprisingly, she found herself tangled in her royal blue tunic. With a huff she yanked it off, shook it out and then put it back on straight. She brushed at the wrinkles until the white cross that was the symbol of the Musketeers was perfect.

"Sir?" The voice interrupted again.

"God dammit, boy, I told you I would be right out." She sat on the edge of the pallet to pull on her boots. The evening before she had shined them herself, taking special care with the supple black leather. She draped her shoulder belt across her chest, adjusting the pommel of her sword just so and then with a flourish she topped off her uniform by setting the dashing Musketeer hat atop her cropped hair, its corner turned up on the left and adorned with a long white feather. Everything in its perfect place.

For ten years, Olivia had been refining her ruse. Since her brother had died prematurely and she had escaped the increasing horror of her family's manor house to take his place as a new Musketeer. But every morning when she stepped out, prepared for the new day's charade, she was struck by a small bolt of fear against which she was forced to steel herself. At that point, she was required to remind herself that being a Musketeer with a strapped chest and an androgynous face was still worlds better than being the shrinking daughter of an alcoholic, impoverished minor noblewoman whose husband had died under mysterious circumstances.

A young man, certainly not more than seventeen, was standing just in front of her door, holding his hat in her oversized hands. He shifted his weight from foot to foot nervously and chewed on his lower lip. When the door opened and Captain Olivier exited, the boy sprang to life. "Sir, the Viscount Coquille has sent for you. For the preparations for the ball."

She set a calming hand on the boy's shoulder, for delivering his message had not seemed to calm his nervous energy at all. "Please alert the Viscount that I will be with him shortly."

The boy turned and dashed off at such a speed that he nearly barreled into Elias as he came around the corner, looking for the woman that the boy was currently fleeing away from. He flattened himself against the wall to avoid the overzealous messenger and once he was past he intercepted Captain Olivier before she could make it far in the direction of the kitchen.

"Breakfast?" They had been fast friends for years and though Elias had been a Musketeer when Olivier arrived, he had never begrudged his friend's rapid rise to success. He gestured with his black fencing gloves, slapping them against his palm. Olivier nodded and set out, knowing that Elias would follow her like he always did.

The passageway through the Musketeer's barracks was too narrow to allow Elias to walk abreast of her. He had powerfully broad shoulders to match his generally impressive frame. Usually his high forehead was covered by his plumed hat, but today he did not seem to be sporting it. She thought about commenting on that irregularity, but thought better of it. Her impending meeting with the Viscount had put her in a bad mood. He was in charge of the Palace guard, and as such thought he was far above Captain Olivier, not just in station but in intellect.

She pushed open the door to the kitchens and held it for Elias to pass. The palace kitchen was a huge vaulted room, bustling with people, steam and smoke. There were two grand hearths on which any number of pots were simmering and a huge brick oven for baking the fresh bread daily. The two Musketeers weaved their way through the din. Along the way, Olivier snatched a few rolls and two apples which she tucked into a pouch she made by holding her tunic up with one hand. They made it out the other side and into the palace proper without anyone noticing her casual theft. She handed a roll and an apple to Elias and became to rapidly eat her own as they walked. She couldn't remember the last time she had had time to sit for a meal and eating while walking without choking or tripping was her specialty.

She finished just before they reached the door to the Viscount's office. She brushed her tunic off, straightened it and squared her shoulders. "I'll be waiting for you," Ellias indicated the corner of the hallway, far enough that he wouldn't be noticed loitering. She nodded and then turned to push the door open.

The Viscount's office was easily four times the size of her own and much more lushly appointed. She swept the hat off her head and tucked it under her arm as she entered. "You summoned me?" Years of practice at self-control could not hide the hint of sarcasm in her voice.

At the sound of her entrance, the Viscount rose, gesturing to the chair directly in front of his large, gilded desk for her to seat. "Captain Olivier, always a pleasure." He was balding and old for a guardsman, with a stomach that indicated how far he had gone to seed.

She took the indicated seat and reached up to brush her fingers through her short brown hair, trying to hide how uncomfortable the uppercrust setting made her. "What can I do for you? I understand you needed to see me about the ball."

"Yes." He sat down and shuffled through a pile of parchments on his desk until he found the one he was looking for. "We have rather more guests than originally expected, and what with the arrival of the duc de Bourgogne, Alphonse Cabot, we simply haven't got enough guards. We'll need a detachment of Musketeers." He handed the parchment to Olivier to peruse. It was a memorandum from the King for the Musketeers to be placed under the Viscount's command for the duration of the festivities.

"Well," she set the parchment down and schooled her face to hide the annoyance she felt. "Everything seems to be in order."

"And you to lead them," the Viscount added smugly. "Under my command, of course."

"Of course."

***

Duc Alphonse was a difficult man under the best of circumstances. He had been breed specifically to create his haughty mien and easy way with command. It did not make him easier to sit in a carriage with. Every time a wheel dropped into a rut, it began a long bout of cursing over the indignity of travel these days and the unfortunate pain of his gout. His daughter had been forced on a number of occasions to reach over and pat his arm to calm him through a fit of temper. While the Duc was a man of quick temper and burly build, his daughter Alexandra was tall and willowy. Her blonde hair was her pride; today she wore it pinned back into a bun and covered for the rigors of travel. Where her father was angry, she was cold and detached. Where he was haughty, she was icily aloof. Their rarefied blood was obvious in both, but manifested in neatly opposed ways. It made their times together, unpleasant.

Alexandra leaned forward after one last outburst and flicked the curtain away from the window with one elegantly gloved hand so that she could peer out at the palace as they approached. It was imposing, but her own estates were vast, so it took more than just a towering visage to impress her. She sat back, letting the curtain fall, obscuring the view again. The ball was not her idea of a good time. A palace packed to the hilt with simpering overdressed young women and sweating, inane lesser peerage actually sounded like the closest thing to hell on Earth. Her father had been generous, or distracted, enough to allow her a free rein over her own education, but the result had ruined her for the sorts of social functions a daughter of a Duc was meant to excel at.

This ball in particular would be painful for her. Finally, her father had decided that she had reached a suitable age to find a suitable suitor and arrange a suitable marriage. Time to find a man who could extend their family's gargantuan estates and increase their monstrous political influence. The Cabot's were juggernauts, but they were insatiable. Alexandra's freedom would be the next sacrifice to the hungry maw of power.

The carriage ground to a halt with a bone shattering jolt that sent Duc Alphonse into another screaming fit. The footman who opened the door to hand them out was startled by the sheer force of the Duc's anger and nearly fell. Alexandra sighed, took the hand offered her, and stepped out of the stifling vehicle. Palace and ball or not, at least it was a relief to have some fresh air.

Theirs was not the only carriage. The grand driveway was packed with people, servants and trunks. A perfect opportunity for Alexandra to escape. She glanced behind her to make sure her father was absorbed with ensuring their luggage made it to their rooms, then set off with purposeful strides through the crowd. She didn't have a plan. She didn't need one. She just could not stand another moment spent within ten feet of her father. Somewhere within the palace or its grounds, there had to be something more interesting to do or see than another passel of aging ladies and their little lap dogs.

She worked her way through the crowd and after much wandering arrived at a quiet courtyard, exactly the sort of getaway she was hoping to find. By her estimation, it would be several more hours before her father realized that she was gone and sent a servant to find her. There was a small fountain in the center of the courtyard surrounded by low stone benches that were shaded by neatly trimmed trees. She stepped into the courtyard before she noticed the lone figure sitting beside the fountain who looked up at the sound of her approach.

It would have been rude to turn around and exit for no visible reason, so she pressed on, selecting an empty bench and arrange her skirts about her as she settled onto it. Her seat afforded her a profile view of the person. It was a Musketeer in full regalia, holding fencing gloves in his left hand. His plumed had sat beside him on the edge of the fountain, revealing his brown hair which stuck out in a fashion that surely had to have been intentional. He went back to reading over a piece of parchment held in his right hand after Alexandra sat.

***

Olivia had retreated after a long afternoon to her favorite courtyard. It was near the back of the palace, far from the guest quarters which were rapidly filling. She never read her letters where anyone else could happen upon her – instinctive sense of self-preservation. Not that she received a lot of correspondence since her mother had died the year before, but occasionally Abbie Carmichael sent her a note so she could be sure the woman lived. Theirs was a complicated history further tangled by what Olivia could only assume was a Scottish temper, but she was one of the few people alive who knew who exactly Olivia was and what exactly her life really meant. Whenever Abbie had sent the letter (it was difficult to tell exactly with the state of the continental postal system) she had been in southern Italy, enjoying the hospitality of a swarthy merchant prince.

She had finished the letter, but she held it in her hands, breathing in the very faint, ghostly smell of Abbie's favorite perfume. It only served to remind her how long it had been since she had held a woman. Like magic, her musings manifested the most perfect facsimile of all her favorite daydreams. A lithe blonde woman, dressed in a shimmering confection of a dress, walked into her courtyard and took a seat close enough to allow Olivia to ogle her in her peripheral vision. As if totally unaware of Olivia's scrutiny, the woman reached up unpinning her hair and shaking it out. It fell like a wave of gold over her shoulders.

That was more than Olivia could take after a letter from Abbie and a morning conversation with the Viscount. It was past time for her to prepare her contingent of Musketeers for guard duty anyway. She stood, tucking the folded letter into her belt before settling the dashing hat on her head. Her route back into the palace lead her directly past the blonde, an intentional choice. Unintentionally, the letter slipped from her belt as she pulled her gloves on. The loss was not missed, preoccupied as she was. Alexandra didn't notice it either until after the Musketeer was gone and she stood to move closer to the fountain. She picked up the letter, glancing in the direction the dashing man had disappeared. She pondered her options for a moment before picking up the folded parchment, noticing that it smelled of a woman, and tucked it into her pocket. She would make inquiries later and return it to its rightful owner, she decided.


	2. Chapter 2

The Duc's servant found her eventually, and Alexandra was forced to retire to their rooms to prepare for dinner. She kept the letter tucked in her dress, not mentioning it to anyone. She slid it into one of her unused gloves in one of the many drawers of her oversized dressing room when she arrived, but it preoccupied her while she was undressed, smeared in unguents and perfumes and then redressed in something frilly and frothy, more suitable to a dinner at court than her traveling dress had been. She studied herself in the mirror while a maid servant whose name she does not know and does not care to ask for, brushes and pins her hair into an outrageous and rather garish updo. Alexandra never understood exactly what drove fashion, since simplicity spoke to her own inner sense of sophistication, but her father insisted that she always be directly on the cutting edge. It wouldn't do for a Cabot to be seen as falling behind.

Finally, she looked like a cake covered in frosting and little shaped sugar flowers topped with a whipped confection of blonde hair. Her father, on the other hand, had become distracted by something he was yelling at a small, wiry looking man about so she knew they would undoubtedly be late for dinner. It was an opportunity, though, so she took it and slipped into her dressing room to retrieve the letter from its hiding place. Cabot's were not rude. They were infinitely polite, even to their social inferiors. Reading someone's mail was not polite at all. It was gauche. The Musketeer had been dashing, however, and romantic. The letter smelled distinctly like a woman. Undoubtedly it was some sort of love letter and theirs was a grand, all consuming passion – something Alexandra would only ever get to experience vicariously since her sale as a glorified breeding heifer for some smarmy courtier was imminent.

She sat on the little bench amongst the many shoes her father insisted that she bring for their stay and unfolded the letter gingerly. The handwriting was flowing and precise, the hand of a woman certainly. The address was informal – the Musketeer and his lady must have known each other for some time. And then she stopped, her eye catching and she simply couldn't dislodge it. _To my dearest Olivia_. It was a woman's name, then the letter must not have been the Musketeers. Perhaps he had stolen it from a suitor? She keeps reading, hoping for some sort of clue to the shape of this mystery.

_Rodrigo has taken me to his seaside estate and the salt air has made him vigorous indeed…_Alexandra skimmed down the page, the bulk of the first part of the letter was a rather steamy description of what Rodrigo and the letter writer were getting up to at his seaside estate in southern Italy. She blushed slightly, glad that there was no one around to notice. Then halfway down the page she noticed something which caught her again. _But Rodrigo is nothing compared to you, Olivia, and I miss you deeply. At night, I lay awake and think of you and your damn hat. Surely they designed those just to make you more dashing to the young women. Undoubtedly you are covered in more pretty young things then you know what to do with and for that I am eternally jealous. You won't forget me just because there is a fresh crop of smooth flesh, I sincerely hope. If you are very good and write me back promptly to assuage my loneliness, I shall send you a new rapier of Italian steel to help beat them off with. Rodrigo knows the finest swordsmith…_

Alexandra sat back, looking up from the letter to focus her clear blue eyes on the hanging gowns across from her. Olivia was certainly a woman's name, but there was no more dashing of a figure then a fully dressed Musketeer. And a rapier for a woman? That was an unsuitable gift, especially if it was meant to keep other women off. She glanced back down at the letter, skimming it to the finish where it was signed: _With all of my eternal love and affection, Abigail Carmichael_. Next to the signature was a lipstick mark in the shape of lips, as if the letter writer had punctuated it with a kiss. It was a shockingly intimate gesture, especially in a letter from one woman to another.

She folded the letter back up and tapped the creased edge against her palm thoughtfully. Now she would simply have to find the Musketeer and return the letter, if only to get a better look at whatever sordid affair was going on. That was the danger of extremely bright women with nothing but playing dress up to occupy their minds, they got curious about things which they would be better off leaving alone. She stood, tucked the letter into the bodice of her dress and brushed the wrinkles from her skirt.

"Alexandra?" Her father's voice cut in just as she was preparing to step out of the dressing room, still only half in the world. Her mind was churning over and over the information she had just read. There was something gloriously romantic about the idea of hoping around Europe from rich lordling to rich lordling while keeping up some sort of unrequited love affair by letter with a dashing Musketeer. This was something else, though. Either the Musketeer was a woman, or the Musketeer had stolen the letter from a rather unorthodox woman for some purpose.

She didn't even notice as her father took her arm with a gloved hand and began to steer her toward the door. "Alexandra." His voice was sharp this time. "Could you please act like you are not touched in the head?" She glanced up into her father's dark eyes that were hard with annoyance.

"Of course, papa. I'm sorry."

***

Captain Olivier was paler than usual. Elias thought about commenting on it, maybe making a joke, but thought better of it. It wasn't the sort of drained look one got after a hearty twenty minutes in the closet with one of the maids followed by too much drinking – which was how he usually ended up looking like that – it was a sort of sick, nervous pale that indicated that there might be something genuinely wrong with Olivier. The Captain of the Palace Musketeers was wringing his fencing gloves in his hands and clenching and unclenching his jaw. Maybe he was just upset about having to be under the Viscount's command for the duration of the festivities, which had been scheduled to last for the next four days. The ball was only the showcase of a much larger social event, the kind the King was forced to hold rather regularly to maintain the power and glory of his court.

Olivia was sick to her stomach, actually physically, painfully sick to her stomach. She had lost the letter from Abbie, but it was not for sentimental reasons that she had become ill over its disappearance. If anyone found the letter and realized who it belonged to, who it referred to, then her ruse would be up. After a decade of service to the crown as a loyal Musketeer, she would probably be burned as a heretic and a witch. Abbie's letters were the only chink in her perfect disguise. Usually after reading them over and over again, breathing in deeply of her perfume and pretending the woman herself were nearby, she burned them in the little grate in her room. Abbie was not a woman prone to sentimentality, so she would understand why Olivia didn't keep them. But now one of those letters was running around.

The only person that could have seen her with the letter was the attractive blonde woman she didn't recognize and so presumed was one of the many guests of the King that had begun to flood into the palace that morning. Maybe, if she was lucky, she would catch sight of the woman tonight at the dinner and ask her discretely about it. After all, the woman was obviously a lady and ladies didn't read other people's mail. Right?

Elias elbowed her in the side, breaking her concentration, "Captain, I think its time we got out there. Everyone else is in place." She nodded curtly at him and began to pull on her gloves before gesturing for him to follow her.

Down a corridor, around a corner, through a room, and then another corridor, two more turns: a right and a left, a second room and then they were in the grand hallway that lead through the palace to the vaulted dining room. The palace was like a labyrinth and it had taken years for Olivia to grow comfortable enough with its layout to not have to count her turns to arrive at her desired destination.

The hallway was already lined with smartly outfitted Musketeers at ready intervals. They were an impressive bunch with the pressed tunics, floppy hats and fondness for elaborately landscaped facial hair. Indeed, Captain Olivier was the only clean-shaven face in the bunch – a style choice which was highly unfashionable. She made up for her unfashionability by having an uncanny way with the ladies and wicked skill with her rapier.

She walked down the hallway, glancing back and forth to ensure that each Musketeer appeared his best. After her unpleasant meeting with the Viscount, she intended that every single one of her men would appear more martial, more capable and more handsome then any single one of the Viscount's Palace Guard. Everything was living up to her expectations. At the end of the hallway she was met by the Viscount, dressed to impress in an outfit that appeared to be sewn entirely of brocade. It was a little busy to Olivia's mind and it did nothing to hide the unflattering process of aging that he was experiencing.

"The guests will be arriving soon, Captain. It's a pleasant surprise to see that everything is in order," he offered his backhanded compliment in a smug tone of voice.

"We live to serve," she replied through gritted teeth.

"I would like you to keep an eye on everything during the dinner. The King has invited me to sit at his table." Only a social coup like that would ever entice the Viscount to leave the operation of Palace security entirely in her hands. Another double-edged sword cutting as it came and as it went. However, she had already steeled herself for the evening and another prick wouldn't hurt her.

A horn blared from somewhere before she could reply, and the pair were pressed against the wall by the tide of courtiers that flooded down the hallway. She swept the hat off her head and pressed it to her chest as she was jostled. At one point she was bumped into the Viscount, causing her to hiss through her teeth with displeasure. Footmen flung open the door to the grand dining room, allowing golden light to spill out into the hallway and across the torrent of guests that made their way inside.

As uncomfortable as her position was, it did afford Olivia a view of every person that was preparing to dine. Somewhere in the middle of the flood, surrounded by the best dressed retinue she had ever seen and accompanied by a powerfully built man wearing the seal of the duc de Bourgogne, there was the blonde. Maybe the distraction of a letter from Abbie had done it earlier, but Olivia had not noticed how stunningly beautiful the woman was. Her self-possession made her stand out like a candle in the darkness. She was magnetic. Olivia could feel her jaw go slack, but reality hit her hard. That was the Duc Alphonse Cabot holding her arm, and that must mean that the gorgeous, delectable blonde was his daughter, Alexandra Cabot – the most eligible heiress in all of France. And she probably had Olivia's letter.

It would be conduct unbecoming of a Musketeer to blow her own head off with her flintlock pistol, but she considered it for a moment before deciding that there had to be an easier way to retrieve the incriminating document. She would make inquiries as soon as she could move again to find out which maids were seeing to the Duc's quarters. Maids loved her because she kissed them softly, talked to them sweetly and never, ever took advantage of them. It should be a simple enough thing to get one of the maids to discretely search the lady's things and see if an out of place letter might be hanging around. Failing that, Olivia would have to break into the rooms herself. That letter could not be laying around for just anyone to see.

The entire procession took nearly thirty minutes to be seated. Everyone had to be seated in the proper manner in the right place with all the pomp and circumstance that surrounded everything that social superiors did. The long wait allowed Olivia's to linger on the Duc's daughter. Her dress had a rather daring décolletage which exposed a smooth, alabaster expanse of flesh. Her collarbone, the slender column of her throat up to the perfectly chiseled jaw – Olivia's eyes drank it all in. She was talking to her father, the long fingers of one hand resting on his bicep as her lips moved. There was no way for Olivia to hear what she was saying, but the way her lips formed each letter, revealing and concealing straight white teeth, nearly drove Olivia out of her mind. While the other women surrounding her were giggling and batting their eyelashes and their fans, the Duc's daughter was composed, self-possessed. She didn't need to simper because beauty radiated off of her naturally.

And then they were all gone. The sudden silence and emptiness of the hallway felt like a vacuum. The Viscount had disappeared as well, leaving Olivia alone to prepare for the second phase of the evening – retrieving her letter while making sure the Palace didn't burn down and the English didn't invade. She set her hat back on her head and set off toward the guest wing to find a maid.

Her search came up empty, at least for a maid that could get her into the Duc's rooms. She had managed to fondle a rather buxom lass in a dark corner, if only to keep up her reputation as a Musketeer. She found herself standing in the hallway in front of the door to the Duc's daughter's suite fumbling nervously with the door. Pop! She slipped the long, flexible piece of metal back into her tunic and pushed the door open. No one inside, but she knew that already. She had knocked first. She glanced around once again to make sure the hallway was empty and then slipped inside, closing the door softly behind her.

The lamps were on low so that she could just make out the shadows of all of the furniture. Clothing lay strewn about. Half unpacked chests were stacked against one wall. Olivia knew from experience that the daughter's suite would be attached to the Duc's through the dressing room, but it was obvious her father did not supervise the daughter's maids. The general disarray did not seem like the sort of thing that a man of Duc Alphonse's reputation would accept.

The entire process of searching took longer than she expected and by the time she was done she was nearly jumping out of her skin at every noise. She had tried, and failed, to come up with a good excuse for why she was rummaging through the Duc of Burgundy's rooms, in case she was caught. Nothing in the drawers of the vanity. Nothing tucked in any of the shoes or under any of the folded dresses. Nothing under the pillows or the corner of the mattress. A strange sense of déjà vu swept over Olivia at some point, but she chalked it up to the unorthodox situation.

If Alexandra Cabot had the incriminating letter, it was not in her rooms. It could be on her person somewhere. Without meaning to, the idea of searching the Duc's daughter as thoroughly as she had her rooms distracted her, but the sound of approaching footsteps snapped her back from her pleasant reverie. Someone was coming and Olivia was in the middle of a place she had no business being. Her reflexes were honed to a razor edge and without hesitation she ducked into the dressing room. There were not many more places to hide in there, but with any luck no one would even come in.

The door to the hallway opened slowly just as Olivia pushed her way into the hanging dresses, forcing herself back into the corner and pulling the fabric around her. If nobody looked closely, her boots should be nearly invisible. She held her breath to hear what was going on in the next room better. There was the quite sound of two pairs of footsteps.

"Really, Marie, if you will just help me get ready for bed that will be enough. I'm feeling just a little off, but I'm not going to die." The elegant diction, the melodious tone – surely the voice belonged to Alexandra Cabot. It fit her perfectly, and like her physical presence, it affected Olivia profoundly and physically. There was a pause and Olivia did her best not to imagine what exactly was involved in getting the blonde ready for bed. "Really, my father is overreacting. Can you hand me the brush?" The voice of her companion was too quiet for Olivia to catch. "The travel has worn me out and that dinner was far too rich. Lady Gaudet is really a boor too. I do not want to know what her husband had to do to get them a seat next to us."

Olivia shifted her weight from foot to foot nervously. The two women chattered softly for another ten minutes or so and then the door opened and closed again. The maid leaving, Olivia figured, much to her relief. That still let her trapped here by the presence of the lady in the other room, though. She didn't have long to think about it, because immediately after the outer door closed, the door to the dressing room opened.

Alexandra was dressed in a diaphanous white gown that reached her knees, carrying a candle in one hand. Her hair had been brushed out, falling around her nearly bare shoulders and her face had been washed clean of make-up. Her presence was shockingly intimate and even sensual, despite the fact she couldn't possibly know Olivia was there. The evening had gone from bad to worse for the Musketeer. The blonde closed the dressing room door behind her, then set the candle on the little bench amongst her shoes before sitting next to it. Her nightgown rode up, exposing her lower thigh. Olivia did her best to breath shallowly through her nose as silently as possible.

The blonde produced from somewhere that Olivia couldn't see, a folded piece of parchment. Not just any folded piece of parchment, the very letter that the Musketeer had been skulking around like a bandit looking for. Her elegant fingers were caressing the paper, opening it…

"That's mine!" Olivia acted entirely on instinct, from the reptilian part of her brain, the part that wasn't in charge of keeping track of things like how she wasn't supposed to be here, and she shouldn't frighten attractive women. Alex's eyes grew wide at the sudden noise in the quiet room. The force of her surprise sent her backward into the pile of shoes.


	3. Chapter 3

The press of people and the constant noise of idle chatter bore down on Alexandra's temples like a vice. With each course, the vice grew tighter. She was seated next to the single most insipid woman in the world and across from the least handsome, but richest, young Baron in the country. It felt a little like her brain was liquefying. In another life, she mused, she would have been born a boy and she could have run her father's estates and been the next Duc, not forced to sit here and make small talk about the latest gossip.

She had studied carefully the face of every single Musketeer as she had been swept down the hallway. She thought maybe she had caught sight of him, but before she could look back, her father was guiding her into the dining room and pulling out an ornate, high-backed chair for her. Something about the letter stuck at the back of her brain and through the appetizers, the discussion of some Chevalier's sons business venture in the Low Countries and rousing conversation about hunting dogs, it kept pushing its way to the forefront of her mind.

"Papa," Alexandra leaned over during a break in the conversation. "I'm not feeling very well." He barely acknowledged her presence, but she took his vague nod to be a dismissal. Gratefully, she climbed to her feet and swept out of the room. Her maid, Gloria met her outside the door and accompanied her to her rooms. It took her longer then she had wanted to get rid of Gloria, but once she was gone she headed to her dressing room in case she returned.

She had only just sat down when an apparition burst from her hanging dresses and she fell backward with a squeal of fright. Confusion and the harsh shadows thrown by her candle make it hard to focus at first, but then she managed to make out the face above her. It was the Musketeer. He had exotic cheekbones, which was a ridiculous thing to notice directly after being attacked. The next thing she noticed was his deep brown eyes. She thought she might drown in them before her attention was pulled down to his sensuous lips when he spoke, "Are you alright, my lady?" Her lips quirked up in a crooked grin.

"I am now." Alexandra wasn't even sure where the comment came from. It was horribly out of place. She needed to summon her outrage. What was the Musketeer doing in her dressing room? It struck her suddenly, as she was being helped easily to her feet by the man, one strong hand holding her left one – the letter. He had probably come looking for it.

They were upright and far too close together. Alexandra's flimsy nightgown was no barrier, she felt nearly naked and the heat of the Musketeer's presence nearly seared her. He had not released his grip on her. She could feel the calluses from years of swordplay. She held out her right hand, offering the letter to the man. "I take it that you are looking for this?" Even nearly naked, in a small dark room with a man she didn't know, she managed to maintain her presence.

***

Olivia had learned a variety of colorful profanities during her military career. All of them were rushing through her head at once, punctuated by the realization that she had lost her hat somewhere amongst the shoes and scattered gowns. She snatched the letter away from Alexandra as fast as she could and slipped it into her tunic. She was still holding the other woman's hand! Instead of releasing it and running, like common sense would dictate, Olivia used it to pull the woman closer. She was tall for a woman, but the blonde was actually a little taller than her she realized. "I'm in your debt, my lady. This is a very important letter." Dashing was probably her best bet, she decided. Women loved dashing Musketeers. Hopefully a charming Musketeer in her dressing room was going to be more romantic than creepy for Alexandra.

"Mademoiselle Carmichael appears very fond of you," Alexandra said it, then turned bright red – a color that stood out strikingly from her ivory skin.

She had read it. The letter. Her secret, so closely guarded for years, was out and nobody could stuff it back in the closet. Olivia released Alexandra's hand abruptly and took a step back toward the door, reaching behind her to grasp the knob.

"No!" It wasn't possible for Alexandra to blush any harder, but maybe her blonde hair could turn red at this rate. "No, don't...go. I still don't know your name." Olivia was a little surprised at how low Alexandra's voice became, how husky. Her aloof demeanor was melting in a way that Olivia had not expected and actually made her a little uncomfortable. The dressing room felt like it had become ten degrees hotter.

Olivia backed into the door, still poised to run. Sweat beaded on Olivia's brow and she bit the inside of her lip. "Captain Olivier Benoit."

"Olivia?" The name felt like a slap to her face, even though Alexandra whispered. Panic gripped her, before she had any idea what exactly she was doing, Olivia was out the door and in the hallway, nearly running as she made her way through the twisted corridors. She didn't slow down until she nearly ran a couple of drunk courtiers. She apologized with a deep bow and slowed her pace. There was nothing she could do about what Alexandra knew now, but she would have to proceed as if everything was alright until it wasn't. Which meant, she had a job to do – she had been a Musketeer her entire life, even before she had the sword and the commission. No one could take that away from her.

***

The revelation of the Musketeer's actual gender did nothing to calm Alexandra's quickly overheating imagination. She straightened the dressing room quickly and then climbed into bed before anyway came to check on her. Images swam behind her closed eyelids, keeping her from sleep despite her actual fatigue. Captain Olivier…Olivia…There was something striking about her, even beyond her unorthodox lifestyle. Her hand had been strong, firm and the phantom caress of her palm against Alexandra's kept her awake. It was a small imaginative leap from the feel of Olivia's hand holding hers, to Olivia's hand cupping her breast.

Alexandra was not particularly surprised by her own reaction. Her feelings and inclinations had always been something of a bother to her. She had never labored under the delusion that she would be marrying for love or for attraction, so it had been rather a moot point for most of her life, though it would be convenient to be more interested in men, if only to make these sorts of occasions more interesting. One could kiss your dressing maid as much as you wanted, it didn't mean you wouldn't be marrying a man and providing his children. That was simply the result of her being a Cabot and she was resigned to it.

She had never met a woman masquerading as a man before, and when she stopped to analyze it (and she frequently analyzed things more than her father thought was proper) that was probably the reason why this particular woman was so magnetic to her. There was an easy, almost masculine, charm to her, but her lips would still be soft, Alexandra just knew it.

Just as she heard rustling in the adjoining rooms to indicate her father had returned, she began to drift off to sleep, still fixated on the deep brown eyes of the unusual Musketeer.

***

The next morning Alexandra awoke with a plan. There was some sort of state tea which she would be expected to attend, and undoubtedly any number of young men who would want to accompany her on a walk through the gardens, and certainly it would take at least two hours for her to be dressed and coiffed for the evening's dancing, but there was plenty of time for Alexandra to discretely disappear long enough to set things in motion. At first she had contemplated sending a message through a maid. Servants usually had any number of channels for communication beneath the stairs, as it were, but something like this seemed too delicate to entrust to a flighty sixteen year old. Maids were great sources of information

While Marie brushed out her hair, Alex looked at the girl in the mirror. Without meaning too, she wondered if Marie looked like Abbie, if that was the sort of girl that Captain Olivier liked. Surely, Abbie Carmichael was some sort of beauty. She had to be, otherwise it would ruin the grand romantic fantasy, and Alexandra secretly suspected that the Musketeer had no trouble attracting beautiful women.

"Do you know where the Musketeers are quartered?" She finally worked up the nerve to ask, proud of her own nonchalance.

Marie was used to the strange things that rich ladies cared about and was certainly not surprised by the question. "I don't exactly know, ma'am. But, I imagine their barracks are near the Palace Guards'. By the stables."

Alexandra was versed enough in court affairs to know that these were two distinct entities. The Musketeers were a junior order of the Royal Guard, and stationed at the palace as auxiliaries to the King's own personal guard. It did leave open the question of Captain Olivier's origin. She mused on the information imparted for a moment as her hair was twisted and pinned, allowing carefully designed curls to fall around her face.

"Do you know any Musketeers, Marie?"

The maid paused for a moment as she tidied the top of the vanity and searched for the pair of earrings that matched Alexandra's outfit. "Only by reputation, ma'am," she offered, her hands moving again until she found what she was looking for. She moved back behind Alexandra and carefully slid the earrings into her ear lobes.

"And what sort of reputation is it that you know them by?"

Marie laughed at the question. "Surely you have some idea of that, ma'am. Adventurous types. Romantics. Dashing." She sighed softly. "All the most handsome men are Musketeers."

"That they are, Marie," Alexandra says with a little laugh. She stood up and checked herself in the mirror. It had taken work, but eventually she had prevailed on her lady's maid to allow her to dress in something more simple. Today, she wore a simple deep blue dress that set off the ivory tone of her skin and exposed her slender arms. "That will be all for now," she said by way of dismissal. The maid nodded and exited the rooms, leaving Alexandra alone to begin the first phase of her plan.

She wrapped a cream colored shawl over her shoulders, checked outside of her door to be sure the hallway was clear, and then slipped out. Alexandra was the daughter of the most powerful Duc in France, but she rarely frequented the Palace and was easily lost in its many twisting hallways as a result. She was forced to stop and ask for directions a number of times, but eventually she made it into the large courtyard that separated the main building from the stables and the barracks.

The yard was square and full of men in uniform, horses and servants. Everyone was doing something: pumping water, brushing down horses, sparing with practice swords. Alexandra envied the way that each and every person seemed to have a purpose, not like a woman bred only to adorn the arm of some equally useless courtier. Of course, her Musketeer was nowhere to be seen. _Her_ Musketeer – she shook her head, trying to dismiss the sheer ridiculousness of consider Captain Olivier as somehow in any fashion, her's.

She pulled the shawl tighter and strode with purpose across the cobbled yard and toward what appeared to be the barracks. She knew that it was entirely unseemly and definitely unladylike for her to be present in a place like that, but Marie had mentioned that Musketeers were reputed to be dashing, so she didn't particularly fear for her innocence. People paused to stare at her – she was out of place – but nobody stopped her as she pushed open the door tentatively and stepped into the large open room that filled the front of the barracks. Like the courtyard, it was full of people, but darker and smokey from the hearth at one end. There were several long tables covered in men in all states of relaxation, playing cards and shouting.

Still, no sight of her Musketeer. Before she could make it far or find someone who looked suitable to ask, she was forced against the wall and surrounded by three burly men. Their tunics were not the color of Captain Olivier's, they were Palace guards, not Musketeers. Panic set in as her back was forced against the rough wood of the wall by large hands. The one pushing her was certainly the leader, and the largest of the three in a burly, bear-like way. "What have we here, boys?" His breath as he spoke nearly choked Alexandra with the smell of wine.

"A pretty little thing. You're lost, aren't you?" The slightly smaller man to the bear's left, leaned in and reached up to touch the curls that hung around her face. The grin that split his face was lewd and showed off his many, yellowing teeth.

"I suggest that the three of you ruffians unhand me, and leave me about my business," Alexandra summoned up all the cool command she had learned at her father's knee and projected it in her voice. Maybe if they hadn't been so drunk they would have realized that she wasn't a simple serving girl to be molested, but Alexandra had no such luck.

"Ruffians, you hear that Arnaud?" The bear man nudged the silent one with his elbow and roared with laughter.

"Yeah, I heard. Ain't no ruffian. My dad's a chevalier." The silent one wasn't silent any longer.

"He won't be for long if you don't leave me alone," Alexandra hissed. The longer she was cornered, the more certain she became that something horrible was going to happen to her.

The men had been so intent on their quarry they hadn't noticed their surroundings, which in turn became a fatal error. A whistling noise was the only warning before the hilt of a rapier slammed into the back of bear man's head, staggering him to his knees. As his head dropped, his assailant came into view – Captain Olivier Benoit and next to her. She reversed her grip on her rapier and swung it around, clipping the ear of the son of the Chevalier. The maneuver sent him off balance just as he was turning, and he stepped backward as he clapped a hand to his bleeding ear. He couldn't even put up a fight when Captain Olivier kicked him firmly between his legs, sending him into the fetal position on the floor.

The last man had been given enough time to get a knife free from his belt, and he advanced on Olivier with his blade free. She parried his first jab just before the point landed home. Her free hand lashed out, knuckles connecting with a resounding crunch against his temple. He was unconscious before he hit the floor. Suddenly, Alexandra was standing in a semi-circle of battered men and Captain Olivier Benoit, with just the faintest sheen of sweat on her brow, was sheathing her sword and offering her gloved hand to the blonde woman. They hadn't exchanged a single word during the entire melee, but Alexandra took the offered hand gladly, allowing her body to be pulled against Olivier's side.

"Thank you," she breathed, her voice husky. "You're the person I was looking for."


	4. Chapter 4

A cold sensation had settled lightly on Olivia's skin, making it itch, when she had caught sight of the glimpse of blonde hair between the shoulders of the trio of inebriated Palace Guards. Finely hones instincts kicked in. Each muscle operated in tandem with each other, outside the conscious control of her brain. Her mind was too busy churning over the horrible possibilities of what could have befallen Lady Cabot before her felicitous arrival.

Her brain and body reconnected when Alexandra's form molded against her side, and then suddenly there she was, standing amongst the casualties holding a shaking Duc's daughter in her arms. She breathed in the smell of Alexandra's hair, not registering whatever she mumbled as the woman turned her head to hide her face against Olivia's neck. "Are you alright, my lady?" Olivia asked in a low voice, her lips moving against silky strands of blonde hair.

Alexandra murmured something to softly for Olivia to hear, muffled as it was by her own neck. The heat of the other woman's breath on her sensitive skin was giving her goosebumps. Reluctantly, Olivia set her hands on Alexandra's shoulders and stepped back so she could see her face. "I'm alright now, Captain," Alexandra repeated.

Her next words were lost as Olivia captured her lips with her own in a deep, searing kiss. Alexandra's arms, of their own volition, wrapped around Olivia's shoulders, anchoring her as she drowned in the waves of desire that were radiating from every point of physical contact with the Musketeer. The moment lasted forever and was over in a second. She whimpered as Olivia pulled away, and unconsciously leaned in, to no avail.

"You were looking for me?" Alexandra's earlier words finally penetrated the adrenaline fog hanging over Olivia's brain. She thought, momentarily, about apologizing for taking such liberties with the other woman, but the expression on her face made Olivia think better of it.

"Yes, Captain." Alexandra straightened her shoulders and took a step back from the Musketeer. People were staring. They probably had been watching since Olivia's muscle memory took over and she clobbered three men twice her size. "Is there somewhere more private to talk?"

Olivia pulled off her leather gloves and wiped her sweating palms on her trousers. As the adrenaline faded she began to feel rather shaky about the whole course of events in which she appeared to be swept up. "Not and maintain your reputation." She grinned crookedly.

"I'm afraid my reputation, at least in this room, is tarnished beyond recognition. It was never my favorite asset anyway."

That was not the answer that Olivia expected. Her experience with noble women was that while they enjoyed their dalliances, they were more concerned with how other's perceived them than anything else in the world. The appearance of modesty and propriety was impressed on them in the womb. Lady Cabot's brazen disregard for convention reminded Olivia of Abbie a little, but Abbie had never kissed her with such heat in front of an audience. Maybe not brazen disregard, Olivia narrowed her eyes a little to study Alexandra, maybe it was an icy aloofness from the concerns of lesser mortals.

"My quarters then." Olivia offered her elbow and Alexandra delicately set the tips of her fingers on her sleeve, allowing herself to be lead out of the great room and its staring mass of men. The entire situation was eerily reminiscent of the dream Olivia had the night before, except _it_ had ended with the two of them naked, writhing together, and she had awoken sweaty and frustrated.

They made their way to Olivia's room in electric silence. Olivia pushed open the door and held it for Alexandra to enter in front of her. The room was small, square and Spartan. There was just her bed in one corner with the worn blanket sewn in a patchwork of the Benoit family colors, with an old chest at the foot. Against the other wall was a plain shaving table below a little mirror. Alexandra's presence filled the room immediately. It was simply too small to contain her. She paced the length of it, running her fingertip across the furniture she passed. She paused to trace the shape of the Benoit family seal burned into the lid of the chest. Olivia watched from where she stood in the doorway, back against the closed door. The blonde, apparently satisfied, sat on the edge of the bed and folded her hands neatly in her lap. Olivia stopped breathing. Was it possible that the lust that had so thoroughly disturbed Olivia all night could seep out of the mattress? Could Alexandra sense the less than honorable thoughts Olivia could not manage? She didn't move or speak.

"You're worried about your letter." It wasn't a question. "You don't need to be." Alexandra bit her lip, working up her courage for her next words. "May I call you Olivia?"

As if the sound of her real name propelled her, Olivia pushed away from the door, taking a few steps into the middle of the room. "No, you can't. No one can. Its not my name." Her voice was angrier then she meant it to be, but the way Alexandra said Olivia hurt her, with a nearly physical pain. "My name is Captain Olivier Benoit, I told you that last night." Perhaps drawing attention her illegal search of the other woman's suite was a mistake; maybe, she thought, it would at least derail Alexandra.

Alexandra looked up from her hands in her lap to fix a penetrative stare on Olivia. It made the usually courageous Musketeer feel very small and extremely scrutinized. She shifted her weight from foot to foot and then turned, walking over to the little table to set her gloves on it, giving her an excuse to hide her face from the blonde.

"Well, Captain Olivier Benoit, I wanted to tell you not to worry about the letter that was in your possession that must have belonged to someone else named Olivia. Though, I question where a man of your moral fiber would have met two ladies like the letter writer and her correspondent." They both knew that neither of them had much moral fiber since they were nearly complete strangers, two women to boot, and had just performed an unseemly display of physical affection in a room full of people.

"I really appreciate your discretion, Lady Cabot." Olivia bit her lower lip. She couldn't think of anything else to say. She hated the feeling of being out of control and here she was, in a situation entirely outside her ability to force it back into a semblance of order.

"This Abigail Carmichael seems to be rather fond of whoever this Olivia woman is. Is that normal amongst your acquaintances? Such close friendships between women?" Alexandra pressed from a different angle, looking for a chink in the armor. Captain Olivier was a magnetic, arousing puzzle that she had to solve. She was _compelled_ to solve.

"I highly doubt that it is normal anywhere." Olivia's shoulders slumped and she was glad that her blush was hidden from Alexandra. The woman was pushing for an admission of some kind of guilt, it was clear, and she was awfully good at finding and pushing Olivia's buttons. "However, I would appreciate if you did not insinuate things about Abigail Carmichael who is…a close friend of the Benoit family." Her sentence ended lamely and it was obvious even to the inanimate chest at the foot of her bed that it was a lie that shielded a larger truth.

There were walls going up almost visibly around Olivia and Alexandra realized now was the time to back off. She leaned back on the bed, unfolding her hands and propping herself up on them. The room didn't really suit her conception of how a Musketeer would live. There was nothing particularly romantic about it, except by its tangential connection to the woman in front of her. She thought that maybe Olivia would prefer for her to leave, but Alexandra was stubborn and until she got what she came for, she wasn't leaving.

"You kissed me, Captain Olivier, and now you can't even look at me."

Olivia turned around, her hip bumping against the table and sending the bowl she used to wash her face to the floor. It clattered loudly, causing both women to flinch. Bending down to pick it up gave Olivia an excuse to take a moment to recover herself. Her hand was steady when she replaced the bowl on the table. "I really don't know what it is you want from me…"

"Alexandra." The blonde prompted.

"I really don't know what it is you want from me, Alexandra." Olivia began to fiddle with the buckle of her shoulder belt, more than a little afraid of the answer.

"I want to know who you are." Alexandra wanted the one thing that Olivia could not possibly giver her: the truth. Unreasonable anger swept through Olivia, Alexandra had no right to the truth. A beautiful, pampered rich girl did not get to force her way into the Musketeer's well ordered life and demand things that she had no business with.

"No. You want a romantic fantasy to play with while you're at court. I'm not entirely sure what sort of imagination you have, but I don't appreciate being the object of it. I'm a Musketeer, and I have a job to do. So, maybe it would be best if you left now and didn't take up anymore of my time." The bitterness in Olivia's voice follows Alexandra out of the room. It lingers around her for the rest of the day while she walks with Lord Chambrett in the rose garden. It pricks at her conscience while she has tea with her father and his many, wealthy acquaintances. It does not, however, make Alexandra any less interested in finding out the truth, or in searching for a way to get close to reticent Musketeer.

***

Cesar Velez had never been the King of Spain's favorite son. He was the King of Spain's only surviving son, and personal feelings had little weight in considerations of inheritance. That didn't mean that the King wanted his son anywhere near him. They had both been glad when Cesar had left for France to attend a royal French gala, and perhaps make political or personal connections that would be useful in the future. Cesar had been less glad to be waylaid by the weather and arrive late for the festivities. People tended to end in unpleasant ways when Cesar became upset.

The royal guests were being seated for dinner when the dark coach marked with the crest of the royal family of Spain pulled into the long driveway. Cesar didn't wait for help from a footman as he sprung out of the carriage. A cloud passed over the moon.


	5. Chapter 5

When Cesar Velez was announced, Alphonse leaned over and pointed him out to his daughter. "Now, that would be a fortuitous match." Alexandra followed the Spaniard with a skeptical gaze as he was escorted to his seat at the table near the King, only a few seats away from the Duc and his daughter. She frowned deeply and tried to cover her distaste by taking a deep drink of her wine. Cesar Velez offered her a tight-lipped smile as he sat. She did stand out a bit, even in a room full of women expertly coiffed; Alexandra's natural beauty required little ornamentation.

"I don't think it would suit." Alexandra set the glass down and turned her attention back to her plate of food. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up, alerting her that she was still under Cesar's scrutiny.

"I think you're too picky, Alexandra." Alphonse punctuated his sentence by spearing a vegetable with his fork. "Make it a point of dancing with him later."

There was no reason to argue, Alphonse couldn't care less how Alexandra personally felt about an individual. A man as well connected as Cesar Velez came with connections and money that more than trumped Alexandra's feelings, which since that morning were increasingly occupied elsewhere. She toyed with her fork, letting her mind drift. She had checked when she was seated for dinner, but Captain Olivier Benoit was not amongst the Musketeers lined in the hallway. Perhaps she was helping in the ballroom, preparing for the evening's festivities. Unbidden, her mind dwelled on the feeling of the Musketeer's lips against her own and the strength of the Musketeer's arms wrapped around her, protecting her.

"Alexandra—" Alphonse voice cut in. He had apparently been talking to her the entire time. She tried to cover how lost she was in the conversation by stuffing a mouthful of food into her mouth. While she chewed, she rewound the last few minutes until she caught on. He was still talking about Velez.

"I don't like Spanish. I think it's a coarse language, and you know I've never been good at it. Senor Velez is not a good match. A Frenchmen would be a much better choice."

"Oh, do you have someone in mind?" Alphonse glanced up and down the table, trying to pick out who could be the right kind of Frenchmen for his daughter. "I can't imagine anyone in France with as much money that Velez has. Apparently, he's some kind of business genius. And you could be a Princess of Spain. Wear the red dress tonight, it'll look nice in contrast with his skin."

Alexandra's mind had already wandered off again. Did Captain Olivier like red? She ate the rest of her dinner consumed with little questions. Would Captain Olivier like her in the red dress? Did Captain Olivier know how to dance?

Elias had been concerned since he heard the gossip about the altercation that morning. Olivier was not prone violence, but he had seen the Captain in action; when he fought, it was a fearsome sight. The scuttlebutt hadn't included the identity of the gorgeous blonde that Olivier had rescued, which only increased Elias' apprehension. When Olivier looked distinctly distracted as they went about preparing the shifts for the long evening ahead of them, his suspicions were concerned. Olivier looked drawn and he frowned without speaking as they walked. Elias tried cracking a few jokes, Olivier didn't even think about cracking a smile.

They sat finally on the bench beside the fountain in what he knew was Olivier's favorite courtyard. He didn't know why the Captain always seemed to be drawn there, except that it was quiet and they never got disturbed if they took a break or a maid there.

"Woman trouble?" Elias asked. Olivier never shared about his exploits. Their conversations about women were disappointingly one-sided. He knew that Olivier was popular enough with women, and the Captain had been rather entangled with that Abigail Carmichael woman years before but all of his liaisons and relationships remained shrouded in a purposeful cloud of secrecy. Olivier was not into sharing, Elias understood, but it didn't keep him from asking.

"It isn't worth talking about," Olivier replied – tight-lipped as usual.

"That blonde, huh? I heard you really bashed some men up over her." Elias grinned broadly, showing all of his teeth. "Who is she anyway? Heard that she's much better looking than the ladies that usually hang around."

Olivier stood up abruptly, putting some distance between the two of them. "Really, Elias, what does it matter who she is? Why do you persist in thinking these things are any of your business."

"Oh." Elias narrowed his eyes, thinking on the situation for a moment. "Oh." It was all coming together now. "This blonde is not some serving girl. You're dallying with a noble lady aren't you?" He clapped his hands together, proud of himself for putting the pieces together. Of course, Olivier would be able to attract himself a higher quality of woman, he had all of the manners and looks that well-bred ladies adored in their heroes. "Why is it that you get all the luck? And why do you look so glum if you have yourself a beautiful, _rich_ woman?"

Olivier sighed, and not for the first time wondered how exactly it was that Elias had come to be a Musketeer when his obvious calling was as an unrepentant fornicator. "Elias, I am not involved with that woman. And I would prefer you put it out of your mind." 

"But you want to be!" Elias stood up too, effective closing the gap that Olivier had created. "And she won't have you! That's tragic." He nodded in agreement with himself. "But, there is the ball tonight and it is an honest fact that women love to dance. It is the surest way into their heart. And a masquerade ball at that. We will be able to sneak you in with no trouble at all!"

And just like that, despite her protestations followed by stoic silence, Olivier found himself dressed in his best clothes: dark blue breeches with a black fitted doublet worked along the edges in silver embroidery. Who exactly Elias had made friends with to procure the simple black mask that she was pulling down over her face when he reentered her room, she didn't want to hazard a guess.

"You are a lady killer, Captain Benoit. Whoever the blonde is, she won't resist you for long." Elias held open the door, gesturing for Olivier to precede him. "And you'll tell me all about it later, right?"

"I wouldn't hold my breath, if I were you. And I still don't think this is going to work. Someone is going to recognize me and I'm going to be lucky to be cleaning latrines this time tomorrow." Olivier brushed past, pulling on his finest pair of calfskin gloves. She was worried the calluses would betray her as a soldier.

"I can't even recognize you. If I was a woman, I'd be swooning right now."

Olivier balled up a fist and clipped Elias in the shoulder playfully. "Lets hope I don't step on anyone's feet."

The ballroom sparkled. Every single surface was adorned with more gold leaf then the last. Alexandra had always found that much gilt to be tacky. The center of the room was full of dancing couples. She had been studiously avoiding making eye contact with any possible partners as she lingered along the edge of the room, fidgeting with her white, feathered mask. Her father had won the argument eventually, and Alexandra was wearing a scarlet ball gown and long white gloves.

When Velez approached her, as she knew he eventually would, she realized that even if she weren't wearing her heels, he would be several inches shorter than her. Usually that fact didn't bother her; she was taller than many men, but when combined with the smirking way that he smiled, she couldn't stand him. Her father had insisted so she reluctantly took his hand and allowed herself to be lead out onto the dance floor.

His smirk only grew as he wrapped one arm around her slender waist and took her hand with his other, leading her in a sedate waltz. She had never been so glad to be wearing gloves in her life. The song ended and the band struck up a faster paced tune. Cesar Velez did not relinquish his grip, instead he pulled her closer. Alexandra's furrowed brow was hidden by the feathers of her mask. She stumbled as Velez spun her around, falling into his body. He laughed harshly in her ear. The situation was rapidly slipping out of Alexandra's control.

"May I cut in?" A familiar voice asked, and without waiting for an answer, Alexandra was smoothly transferred from Velez's arms before he could protest. The clothing was certainly a surprise, but the plain black mask did not disguise the Musketeer's kissable mouth. Even if she had not spent her entire day preoccupied by the taste of Olivier's lips, she would still have been relieved by his timely arrival.

Velez opens his mouth to protest, but its too late; Olivier's arm is around Alexandra's waist and she is steering her away from the Spaniard and further onto the dance floor. She didn't think it was possible, but Olivier looks even more dashing in her masquerade clothes then hr uniform. It accentuates the clean lines of her limbs and the easy swagger in her stride.

Satisfied that there is sufficient distance between them and Alexandra's last dance partner, she pulled Alexandra in close. Musketeers were not trained as dancers; they were trained as fencers and marksmen. Country aristocracy living in genteel poverty, however, were taught the classics. The music was just changing again as they began to dance, something slow, which was a relief. She couldn't be expected to remember the steps, hold Alexandra and do it all at double time. The steps came back to her better than she would have imagined, but the feel of Alexandra in her arms kept her firmly grounded. The blonde was graceful and light on her feet – undoubtedly, she went to a thousand balls. They didn't speak as they danced, but Olivier never broke eye contact. She was drowning Alexandra's baby blues. The intensity of their attraction was like a line of electricity that held them together and finally, drew Olivier in to kiss her chastely as the song ended. It was a brief encounter of lips, but anything more would draw attention.

Reluctantly, Olivier released Alexandra and turned to go. She was afraid of lingering, afraid of getting caught. And if something should happen while she was not at her post? A warm hand on her shoulder stopped her before she was free of the dance floor. "Wait," Alexandra murmured, her breath brushing against Olivier's ear.

She reached back, catching the blonde's hand in her own and leading her off the dance floor. There was nowhere in the ballroom that is quiet, or even semi-private; nowhere that felt safe to Olivier, so she didn't stop, trailing the other woman behind her, out the doors and onto the terrace overlooking the gardens. There were still a smattering of people out enjoying the night air, mostly couples, but the darkness lent an air of protection to the scene. Olivier glanced around and quickly found somewhere for them to sit, a little stone bench near the railing that separated the paved terrace from the rolling green grass that spread out in front of it as far as the eye could see.

They sat next to each other, close enough that Olivier could feel Alexandra's thigh through the volume of her skirt. The blonde reached up and pulled her mask off, holding it loosely in her lap, but Olivier didn't dare reciprocate the gesture. She had no business being here in the shadows with the daughter of the most powerful man in the kingdom. The silence between them builds, and uncharacteristically, Olivier finally breaks it.

"That man had his hands all over you."

Alexandra visibly shivered at the possessiveness in Olivier's low voice. She ran the tip of one of the silky feathers that adorned her mask between her thumb and forefinger. There were words bubbling up inside of her, just waiting to pour forth in an unladylike vomit that would ruin the moment, so she bit her bottom lip to hold it in. She took her time delicately picking the words from the tumult inside of her.

"Thank you for rescuing me. Again. At this rate, I'll have to have my father beg the King to let me keep you as a personal bodyguard."

Olivier leaned in so that her lips brushed against Alexandra's delicate earlobe, and then she did something reckless. "You can call me Olivia." And as soon as the words are out she wanted to suck them back in. A line had been crossed. A perfect, pristine line that Olivia spent most of her waking life constructing and protecting and she had crossed it with a woman she hardly knew, and there was no way to go back.


	6. Chapter 6

Olivia.

The name hung between them in the muted darkness. Strains of music wafted out the doors from the ballroom, but it hardly seemed to touch them, they were in their own dangerous little world. When Alexandra didn't speak, Olivia pulled back, biting her lower lip. The urge to flee welled up from somewhere deep in Olivia's stomach, and the adrenaline that accompanied the feeling buzzed through her veins, making her vaguely nauseas.

The silence stretched out. Just as Olivia was about to push herself to her feet, Alexandra's warm palm was cupping her cheek, the tips of her fingertips brushing against the black mask that covered the upper half of her face. Still the blonde woman did not speak. Her hand trailed from Olivia's cheek down her jaw to the column of her throat. Olivia swallowed visibly, flexing the muscles of her neck beneath Alexandra's tentative touch.

Alexandra's fingers curled and then she tugged insistently, pulling Olivia back into her, their lips meeting hungrily. For a moment, Olivia was afraid someone might see them, but conscious thought was driven from her head by the feeling of Alexandra's tongue, running along her lower lip. They kissed, desperately and hungrily for what felt like forever. Olivia's hands were in Alexandra's blonde hair, pulling the neat hairstyle askew, without knowing how they got there. When the burning requirement of air finally forced Olivia to pull his lips back, Alexandra groaned "Olivia" in breathy disappointment.

The sound of her name, spoken twice in such a short span of time, caused her to catch her breath just as she was regaining it. Her dark eyes met Alexandra's blue ones and she felt like she was falling.

"Alexandra!" A voice rang out across the terrace and shattered the moment into a thousand shining pieces. It was a deep male voice that Olivia didn't recognize. She wasn't sure whether or not that relieved her. Her head snapped around and instinctively she slid down the bench, putting a decorous amount of space between herself and the quietly panting blonde. The voice belonged to a bulky, rapidly approaching man.

When Alexandra saw him, she leapt to her feet. "Father!"

Olivia froze, rooted to the spot. Alexandra's voluminous skirts partially hid her from view, but there had not been skirts there a moment ago. She had no idea how much the Duc could possibly have seen. There didn't appear to be a weapon in his hand, but that didn't mean he couldn't strangle her with his bare hands. She blew out a long shaky breath – behind her mask she could be any young nobleman.

"Alexandra! There you are. I've been looking for you." The abrupt change from the well light ballroom to the darkened terrace had essentially blinded him and it appeared that Alexandra had moved in time that he had not even noticed the other figure on the bench.

"Well, you've found me. The ballroom was too loud and I have been feeling a little unwell. Did you need something?" Alexandra reached up to slide the mask back over her face, hoping to hide her growing blush. She had largely failed to hide her embarrassment at the compromising position her father had nearly caught her in.

A look of concern crossed the big man's face as he reached Alexandra's side. He felt her forehead with the back of his hand to see if she had a fever. Her face was warm, but he didn't know the cause. "Maybe you should go to bed, Alexandra. I will tell Don Velez you are unwell. He will be sorry to not dance with you again." He offered his elbow, which she took with a slightly shaking hand and allowed herself to be lead back into the ballroom. She glanced over her shoulder, making fleeting eye contact with Olivia who still had not allowed herself to breath.

When it seemed safe, Olivia stood up. Her knees felt weak and there was a thin sheen of sweat along her skin. Just the thought of Alexandra's tongue had inflamed every single nerve ending in her body. She groaned with frustration and ran a hand through her hair. She would have to touch herself tonight.

#

"Who was that man?" Cesar threw his boot across the room, narrowly missing his manservant, Liam Connors. When Velez was in a mood, Connors found it safer to position himself behind furniture, which he scrambled to do as the boot whizzed by.

"Which man, senor? There were many people in attendance tonight." Even after decades in Spain, Connors retained a faint Irish brogue. He shouldn't goad his employer, and he knew it, but watching Cesar fume since the beautiful Cabot woman was swept out of his arms by a mysterious man had been the highlight of his week.

"Which man?" Cesar parroted Connors in a high, whining falsetto. "You know full and well what man! I want to know who he is. I want to know ten minutes ago. Go find out!" The second boot went spinning through the air and Connors ducked.

#

Most of the next day went by uneventfully. Olivia shined her boots with extra care. They gleamed when she was done. She shined her sword next. Neither was sufficient to work out the buzzing, nervous energy that filled her limbs. For a solid hour, she took it out on Elias, fencing furiously. He was a worthy opponent, but he neither had Olivia's skill or stamina with a rapier. Finally, he begged off, sweating and flushed. Alexandra was still under her skin – nothing had worked.

Logically, she knew that she had to find something to drive the woman out her blood. In another two days the Duc and his entourage, including his heartbreakingly beautiful daughter, would step back into their carriage and be gone indefinitely. She barely ate any lunch – the thought of Alexandra's departure stuck at the back of her throat and blocked her ability to swallow.

Late in the afternoon, a courier arrived with a full mail bag. A pang of guilt overcame Olivia. In all of her absorption with the Duc's daughter, she had forgotten to reply to Abbie's letter. When the courier handed her a thick letter, sealed in red wax with the impression of the Carmichael family seal, Olivia was understandably surprised. Two letters in such a short time?

Her duties kept her occupied until after the guests had been seated to dinner. She slipped out into her courtyard and took her customary seat. She breathed in the lingering smell of Abbie's perfume, running her fingers along the envelope before she slipped her index finger under the wax blob and lifted the flap. A key dropped out, clanging against the edge of the fountain before dropping into the pool of water.

Her back was to the main entrance to the courtyard as she fished around in the water for the key. She was so intent on the slippery piece of metal that she didn't notice the soft sound of the other person's approach. A hand dropped onto her shoulder, startling her so badly that she nearly fell head first into the water. She caught herself on her hand on the edge of the fountain sending a bone rattling jolt up her arm and through her shoulder.

"Captain Benoit?" A little soft voice asked as the hand retracted quickly. Olivia struggled to recover, gritting her teeth and turning on her heels. The perpetrator of the unpleasant near accident was a petite dark woman with a very round face. She was obviously someone's maid, to judge by the unfashionable cut of her clothes.

"Is there something I can do for you, my lady?" Olivia mustered her charming tone, hoping it would distract from her hands which were slipping the letter and the key into the pocket of her trousers.

"I have a message from my lady for you," the maid offered nervously. She folded her hands in front of her waist demurely. Nothing about her manner or her words betrayed who exactly her lady was or what the message meant. Olivia waited silently for the maid to continue. Small talk was never her strong suit. The maid obviously expected something more and when it was not forthcoming she blushed deeply and stumbled over her words. "She wants to see you. She said to meet her in the rose garden at midnight. She'll be there."

Olivia's eyebrow arched. Her mind whirled, making her feel a little dizzy. Alexandra Cabot wanted to meet her in the middle of the night. She was going to sneak out of her room to see her. It was almost too much. The maid waited patiently while Olivia took a long moment to process the information. "Tell her that I will meet her there." The other woman nodded and turned to leave, but she was stopped mid-turn when Olivia continued. "And tell her she can never do something like this again. It's not safe for her."

The maid disappeared as silently as she arrived. When Olivia was sure the coast was clear, she sat back down and pulled the letter out of her pocket. Hopefully it would explain the mysterious key. She unfolded it and noticed immediately that the handwriting was more rushed than usual. Abbie had an elegant flowing script that reminded Olivia of all the remarkable things that the raven-haired beauty could do with her hands. This letter was cramped. She had written quickly and apparently while crying since the words were blurred in places.

Apparently her latest lover had not taken kindly to her bed-hopping ways. Olive could sympathize; it was what had effectively ended the romantic aspect of their relationship as well. He had apparently taken it with less grace then Olivia had, and Abbie had been forced to sneak out of his charming ocean-front estate under the cover of darkness to avoid untoward violence. The letter had been sent by boat from the little village that abutted her temporary home, but she would be travelling overland. She did find time to mention that she had gotten Olivia a new rapier before things turned south, which made Olivia chuckle softly to herself. It would be like Abbie not to forget something like that. The key was to one of the Carmichael's houses in the little village of Sainte Lorraine about thirty miles from the palace, where Abbie hoped to lay low for a while and where she hoped Olivia would be able to join her.

Olivia carefully folded up the letter, slipped it back into is envelope and replaced it in her pocket next to the key. It wasn't the first time Abbie had come rushing across the continent to hide and lick her wounds. That was a problem that could wait for later to be solved, but in that moment, Olivia had to find out a way to deal with the more pressing question of Alexandra Cabot and her insistence on pushing her way into Olivia's well-ordered life. She looked up at the moon. It was hours yet before midnight. It was time to shine her boots again.


	7. Chapter 7

The scent of roses was heavy in the air. A full moon cast deep shadows from the hedges across the open green spaces between. The darkness in between was like velvet, muting the sound of footsteps as Olivia crossed the lush lawn. She had avoided the graveled path that lead into the series of concentric circles formed by expertly trimmed rose bushes. The noise of her boot heels would have given away her approach, and she would have been too visible if someone was watching from the one of the Palace's balconies.

She weaved her way through the gaps in the bushes, eyes narrowed to slits as she strained to see in the darkness. The center of the rose garden was too shadowy to see if it was occupied when Olivia first stepped in, but she remained cautious on instinct. There was no one else around and she paced the outside edge of the inner circle, silently counting her steps to keep herself calm.

Alexandra had not been nearly so careful about her approach. Olivia could hear the crunch of gravel before the blonde came into view. Her hair shimmered under the moonlight where it escaped from beneath the dark hood pulled up over her head. She was wearing a dark dress too, but the night was too light for it to be a particularly useful disguise. She let out a long breath of air she hadn't realized she had been holding.

The blonde glanced around; obviously Olivia was not nearly as visible in the darkness. She had taken precautions to be as anonymous as possible, wearing a light black fencing blouse with the neck unlaced and dark pants. She wasn't carrying her sword, which would have been a dead give-away if she was spotted. Olivia took a step forward, moving into a ray of moonlight and away from the hedges. Alexandra gasped audibly at the sight of her.

When Olivia had finally whispered her name into Alexandra's ear the evening before, something inside of Alexandra had permanently shifted. The ice wall that she had built around herself – the only way that she could be a proper Cabot—had started to break and it made her feel desperate. Desperate to have Olivia in her arms again. Desperate to find a way to keep her there. She could feel Olivia's resistance, but she had not mistaken the hunger in her kiss – the Musketeer wanted her too.

Alexandra didn't stop when she entered the final circle, making her way directly to Olivia. She didn't pause – there wasn't the slightest hint of hesitation in her manner as she reached out, pulling Olivia's hips flush with her own by snaking her arms around the Musketeer's waist. Her breath was hot against the skin of Olivia's face but she had no time to react, to tell the woman to stop before her lips were captured. There were teeth on her lower lip and then the soft tip of Alexandra's tongue pressing into her mouth, invading her.

When Alexandra pulled back, Olivia nearly fell as her knees shook. Luckily, the blonde didn't remove her arms, holding her up in the circle of her physical warmth. "Olivia," Alexandra breathed the name out, relishing the feel of it on her tongue which still tasted faintly of Olivia. "I needed to see you. I needed to talk to you."

"This doesn't feel like talking to me," Olivia replied, pulling back from Alexandra. The blonde didn't let go. She reached behind her, taking Alexandra's hands in her own and removing them, allowing her to step back. The feel of Alexandra's body against her was like unwatered wine – intoxicating – and she couldn't think straight, let alone keep her mind focused on the reality of the situation which was that Alexandra was totally and completely off limits; she was the daughter of a powerful Duc, Olivia was a cross-dressing Musketeer, and Alexandra would be well on her way back to her home probably by tomorrow. "If I didn't know better, I would think you are trying to seduce me."

"I think I might die without you, Olivia." Alexandra shocked herself with the admission, but as soon as the word's left her mouth, she knew that it was true. Before, she had been resigned to a marriage of convenience for the sake of her family's power. Happiness was not a necessity for a Cabot, but duty was their highest calling. She was confident that if Olivia would just let her, just give her the chance, she would find a way to keep her and if she couldn't, she wanted to be able to remember the feel of Olivia's hands on her skin for the rest of her life. "I need you."

Alexandra's words caused Olivia to wince visibly. She reached up to run her hand through her hair, desperately trying to find a way to defuse the situation. "Lady Cabot, you don't understand what you're asking for." Olivia's body was drawn toward the other woman magnetically, she could feel it respond to the desperate desire in Alexandra's voice, but her mind wouldn't let her. Olivia had to stay in control before she lost herself forever. "You can't understand –" Alexandra tried to take a step forward but Olivia put her hands on her shoulder restraining her. "Please, listen to me. I can't." She shook her head, embarrassed that there were tears welling in the corners of her eyes. "You'll be gone soon, and I'll still be here – alone."

Alexandra sunk to her knees in the lush grass, lowering her chin so that her eyes were hidden from Olivia. With her head down, it almost looked like she was praying. Olivia reached out and brushed the dark hood back, exposing the shimmering golden waves of Alexandra's glorious hair. "Alexandra," she groaned, her voice cracking. The electrical power of her desire was going to kill her – she was going to be consumed by the fire of her own passion and there was nothing she could do; she couldn't take what was offered. The blonde didn't move.

Olivia moved away from where she knelt, turning her back on the blonde and disappearing amongst the shadows. She was gone so long that Alexandra looked up, worried that she had been abandoned in the darkness. Olivia reappeared, hands behind her back and Alexandra noticed just how graceful the Musketeer was as she knelt directly in front of her. "Please, Alexandra, please understand. I'm nobody."

Alexandra looked her directly in the eyes and Olivia felt seared by the intensity in her blue gaze. Still the blonde didn't speak, if she knew what she was supposed to understand, she wasn't verbalizing it. Olivie leaned forward until their foreheads pressed together. "When you leave –" She produced a red rose from behind her back, holding it between them as an offering. "Remember that you are loved. Wherever you go, whoever you are with, you are loved."

With a shaking hand, Alexandra took the rose, careful to avoid the thorns. Before Olivia pulled back, Alexandra kissed her again, chastely this time. She couldn't think of any words to say. Nothing that came to mind was in the least bit adequate to express the expanding pain that was filling her chest. Pain and loss at the thought of having to wake up every day in a life that didn't include Olivia. Needing a woman that she had only just met this much was nearly as terrifying as the idea of never getting to see her again. Words didn't matter anymore because Olivia's arms were around her, pulling her toward the ground. Her hand closed around the rose, the thorns pricking her but she barely noticed the beads of blood that gathered in her palm as Olivia capture her mouth with her own and moved to swing her leg over the blonde woman covering her, pressing her body down into hers. They fit together perfectly, Alexandra thought before piercing desire drove all conscious thoughts out of her head.

Alexandra's hands came up, cupping either side of Olivia's face. Her world was rapidly narrowing to the play of teeth, lips and tongues. Olivia began to fumble with the lacing at the front of her bodice while holding herself off Alexandra with her free hand. The struggle finally broke their kiss, causing Alexandra to laugh lightly. She reached between them, gently moving Olivia's hand out of the way and then expertly opened the front of her dress with deft fingers.

The cool night air blew across the sliver of skin exposed as her top fell open slightly and then Olivia's hands were back, touching her, exploring her, fanning the flames that already threatened to consume her. The Musketeer's lips trailed from the corner of her mouth, down the side of her neck where she paused to lick the hollow of Alexandra's throat before she continued lower. Alexandra moaned softly, biting her bottom lip to stifle the noise. The sure way that Olivia touched her and the soft scrape of her callused fingers against Alexandra's silky skin was driving her wild.

Later, when Alexandra thought back to the moment, she could not remember how or when exactly her skirt was hiked up around her waist, but she did distinctly remember the feeling of Olivia's fingers pressing into her center, filling her. Her body arched taut like a bow as Olivia drove her over the edge.

As she lay limp on the grass, trying to catch her breath, Olivia tenderly laced up her dress and smoothed her skirt out to cover her legs. She showered Alexandra's flushed face with soft kisses before propping herself up on her elbow, stretched out next to the blonde, studying her beneath half-lowered lids. She ran her fingers through Alexandra's blonde hair, spread out around her in the grass like rays of sunlight while the other woman recovered herself.

"Olivia," Alexandra traced Olivia's bottom lip with the pad of her forefinger, her eyes still hazy with arousal. "You will always be loved too. Just because I have to leave, doesn't mean you will ever be alone."

#

No fanfare accompanied the departure of the Duc and his daughter. Cesar Velez asked for permission to visit their estate later in the month and Duc Alphonse friend Viscount Ramon waved them off as their carriage pulled away. Alexandra didn't look out the window. She was unusually demure all morning and when their couch rattled out of the driveway, her head was down with her long blonde hair falling around her like drapes to hide her expression.

#

"That's not the welcome I was expecting," Abbie let her outstretched arms drop to her sides. Olivia had used her key to open the door to the little cottage. She had received a message from Abbie earlier that morning that she had finally finished her cross-continental flight from her last unhappy lover. She had not greeted Abbie with her usual bone-crushing hug and deep kiss. She stepped just inside the cottage and closed the door gently behind her, staying in the doorway.

"Abbie, you're always welcome with me, you know it," Olivia sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. She didn't want to be close to Abbie, to smell her or to be forced to engage in their usual physical intimacy. The gap in her chest that Alexandra's departure two weeks previously had left was beginning to hurt. It made it hard to be near anyone. She had spent days avoiding Elias and small talk with her comrades. Abbie would want to be intimate. She would want to resume their usual relationship, and it was too close to what she had just lost with Alexandra for her to be able to stand it. "I just can't…not today, not right now."

"Then why are you here?" Abbie's temper was legendary, and Olivia recognized the first simmering bubbles surfacing. Abbie turned away from Olivia stalking to the bed where she picked up the wrapped parcel that was laying there. Good sense dictated that a person should not throw a sword at someone else, but Abbie was famous for her wit, not her sense. Olivia ducked just in time to avoid taking the parcel to the shoulder, and the metal clanged dully against the door behind her.

Olivia remained crouched down, waiting for another projectile, only after it didn't come and she heard Abbie's quiet sobs did she stand up. She pulled Abbie into her arms, letting her press her tear stained face to her neck while she cried. The gesture caused her actual physical pain. Olivia gritted her teeth, but managed to muster enough empathy to rub Abbie's back. "I know you're upset by everything. You just need to relax Abbie; I'm glad to have you here. I've missed you so much." And she even managed to mean some of it.


	8. Chapter 8

Abigail Carmichael didn't like the word "no". She didn't like to be denied the things she wanted, which was why she spent a lot of time fleeing from the people from whom she acquired the things. Usually, the force of her personality and the long sweet curves of her legs were enough to get her the things she desired. Olivia had never, ever said no to her, in all the time they had known each other. She had never said no, even after Abbie ran to her arms after each subsequent lover year after year for the last decade. In fact, Olivia had always seemed relieved to see her each and every time she returned. Except this time.

Abbie had been back for nearly six months, and Olivia had done her best to avoid her. Not physically, of course, Abbie made it very difficult to physically avoid her – but emotionally. They made love, because Abbie insisted, but Olivia wouldn't stay the night and they barely kissed. They never talked about what happened to Abbie, or whatever was hurting Olivia. Abbie wasn't unfeeling, however, and she had even ambushed Elias to try to get information out of him, but he was resolutely tight lipped.

Their tense détente seemed set to last forever, until one evening Olivia didn't arrive at her door at their silently agreed upon hour. They had fallen into an empty, silent routine over time and while it was not what Abbie had hoped for, it was still something to comfort her. The break in their routine was jarring; enough to shock her out of her malaise and send her looking for Olivia.

She slipped quietly into the yard in front of the Musketeers' barracks, moving by the light of the full moon. Even late at night, Abbie wasn't alone. In the far corner, unidentifiable in the murk, a lone swordsman was slowly and precisely going through the forms. Each exact movement of the swordsman's wrist caused moonlight to flash off the blade. It had been longer then Abbie could remember since she had sat out and watched Olivia work, but her grace and deadly economy of motion was unmistakable even from the distance. She moved into the shadows, inching her way closer until she had a good view and then leaned against the wall of the building, content to admire Olivia for a while.

Olivia either didn't notice Abbie, or didn't care to acknowledge her. For nearly an hour she went through her forms, starting over each time she finished. Abbie could see the sweat rolling down the side of her face, mixing with the cascade of tears that never seemed to stop. At night, she had heard Olivia crying when the other woman thought she was asleep, but this was different. Something proximate had precipitated this pain, not the lingering effect of whatever had come before Abbie arrived.

When it looked like Olivia was set to go all night, Abbie moved out of the darkness, purposefully crossing the distance between them. The Musketeer lowered the sword, sliding it into its sheathe and turned away from Abbie to hide her tear-stained face. "I think we've been putting off this conversation too long." Abbie sighed, and her voice sounded tired. "Something has changed and I can respect that. But, I won't let you come undone while I watch because you're too stubborn to talk to me." When Olivia didn't respond, Abbie reached out and set her hand on her sweat-soaked shoulder. "I've been acting selfish, thinking everything was about me, but I can see that its not. Come home where we can talk in private."

They didn't speak on the entire long walk back to Abbie's cottage. Nobody passed them on the road at that time of night. Abbie opened the door for Olivia, who brushed past her quickly. The Musketeer picked up one of the chairs and moved it so her back would be to the corner before dropping into it. Abbie was unsurprised at her continuing silence; she could not remember a single time that Olivia had ever made small talk, or offered emotional information without being prompted.

"What is going on, Olivia?" Abbie stretched her hands out, palms up as a conciliatory gesture. She took slow steps toward Olivia, who watched her warily with hooded eyes puffy from tears and when she reached her, she knelt.

Olivia leaned forward, and something in her dark eyes signaled her walls dropping, to Abbie's relief. Their eyes locked for a long moment before Olivia kissed her softly on the corner of the mouth. "Why didn't we work out?" she murmured.

"Because you weren't in love with me, and I was in love with the amazing way you touched my body," Abbie answered with a laugh. "But we got on fine, don't we?"

"For a while every year or two," Oliva cupped Abbie's cheek, stroking her jaw with her thumb. The moment passed and she sat back up. So much had passed between the two women that it almost felt like a betrayal for Olivia to mention Alexandra to Abbie. She knew a part of Abbie had always expected her be there, just the same, waiting for her to return. "There's a woman." She shook her head, tears threatening again. "There was a woman. But it isn't even like that anymore."

It shouldn't have been a surprise to Abbie that it was a woman. There had to be a woman eventually; Olivia was bursting with passion that was waiting for an outlet. She rocked back a little, absorbing the blow physically. It hurt still, even though intellectually she had known that Olivia couldn't be frozen in time waiting for her to need her. "Start from the beginning. Who is she? What was it and why isn't it like that anymore?" Perversely, she had to know.

"Alexandra Cabot." Even saying the name felt like a twist in the gut; hurting Olivia even as she imagined she could almost feel the phantom caress of her elegant fingers.

"The daughter of the Duc of Burgundy?" Abbie interrupted, shocked.

"Now you see why things couldn't ever have worked out." Olivia pulled a letter out of her pocket and unfolded it. "Even if I hadn't just gotten this." The letter shook in her hands, but she couldn't even look down at it. She folded it up again hurriedly.

"Was it unrequited? How did you even meet her?" Abbie hadn't overcome the mental daze that the identity of Olivia's love interest had caused.

"I'm not sure what you would call unrequited, but knowing your filthy mind, no it wasn't unrequited like that." Oliva rubbed a hand across her face, trying to hide the effort it took to keep the tears away. She had done an unseemly and rather unattractive amount of crying lately. "And I met her because of your damn letter. She found it and I broke into her room to get it back."

"So, I helped you pick up a lady. I don't know if I am proud of myself or annoyed," Abbie quipped, trying to lighten Olivia's mood a little. "I am also impressed that you had the skill to pull of breaking and entering without getting yourself thrown in the stocks, and you managed to get the girl after snooping around in her skivvies."

"Well, I've always had a way with the ladies."

Telling Abbie about the whole affair didn't lessen the crushing pain that was threatening to collapse Olivia's heart. If anything, it made it worse. Sharing the pain only multiplied it. But she never mentioned the letter that had precipitated that evening's crisis, and Abbie was becoming antsy to know its contents. Finally, she broke in, "And the letter? What is it?"

Olivia breathed out slowly and unfolded the letter again, offering it to the other woman. Abbie took it and began to read. The letter was from Alexandra Cabot, if the elegant name at the bottom hadn't given it away, her precise rounded script would have at least hinted at a well-bred woman's hand. The words were crisp, the sentences short without a hint of sentiment. It was a cold, distant missive that contrasted sharply with the heated anger and sadness it had caused Olivia.

Alexandra Cabot had been engaged to wed Cesar Velez, son of his royal highness the King of Spain. The wedding would be held the following spring at the Royal Palace in Madrid. That was all. There wasn't a single tender word, no mention of their time together or their feelings. Abbie ran the tip of her finger down the edge of the letter, the parchment was a nice quality. Why bother sending the letter at all? A cry for help?

The idea bounced around inside of Abbie's head, gaining momentum as it zoomed. Of course, Alexandra didn't send the letter specifically to hurt Olivia – her departure had ended any expectation of a relationship, she had to have a reason. The only reason could be that she wanted Olivia to come and save her. Before she even realized it, Abbie was vocalizing the radical thought. "I think she wants you to rescue her, Liv. I think she couldn't risk someone seeing her feelings on paper, but she needs help."

Olivia stood up abruptly, nearly knocking Abbie over. She grabbed the letter with a shaking grasp, fighting back a fresh wave of tears. How had Abbie seen it, but she hadn't? Abbie had never even met Alexandra but she was better able to discern her purpose. 

"I've wasted too much time. Let's leave tonight."

#

The Duc of Burgundy's main estate was his grand ducal palace on the outskirts of Dijon. It was unfortunately several days ride from the King's estate outside of Paris and the weather was poor. Traffic had churned the roads into knee deep mud that sucked at their horses' hooves and multiplied the miles. Olivia didn't notice, the pain in her chest had grown so large she barely noticed her surroundings, but Abbie was beginning to resent Alexandra and her destructive but absent presence in both of their lives.


	9. Chapter 9

The rain broke on the fourth day as the two figures rode into Dijon. Olivia had traded her usual Musketeer garb for dark, nondescript clothes covered with a greatcoat and hood before they set out. She didn't want to be easily identified. Abbie was wrapped deep in a cloak, but the long trek in the harsh weather had left her soaked through the layers of her dress and generally miserable. The sun was balanced just on the horizon and the streets were clearing out. They passed few people on their way into town, leaving the impression of a gloomy dark ghost town. The horses' hooves echoed against the walls of buildings loudly.

They found an inn just as the gloaming became oppressive. Olivia dropped off her horse straight into a puddle. She swore under her breath as dirty water began to seep into her boots. Abbie laughed at her discomfort, dismounting with enviable grace. A stable boy dashed out, grabbing the reins and leading the horses away while Olivia held the front door for Abbie to enter. Inside, the inn's common room was as shabby as its exterior. It was dark, shadows gathering in the corners and dancing in the firelight. A large fireplace provided the main source of light, augmented by candles on a few of the dingy tables. Olivia immediately regretted their choice of venue, but she was too tired to even consider remounting her horse.

Olivia haggled with the innkeeper over their room while Abbie wandered around the room. She couldn't help but notice there was no other guests, which seemed odd to her at that time of the evening but she didn't mention it to Olivia. Their room was cold and dusty, like they hadn't been used or aired in a while, which didn't seem in the least bit surprising.

"Did you have to pick the rattiest hole in the entire city for us to stay in on this godforsaken gallivant?" Abbie's brogue was thick, which was how Olivia could read her deep annoyance. The dark haired woman wrinkled her nose and did her best to get ready for bed without touching any surfaces. Olivia watched her from her position on the bed, pulling off her heavy boots. She couldn't help but smirk.

"I know its not what you are used to, Shamrock, but I'm not made of money." Olivia dropped one heavy boot and then the other beside the bed. She needed to keep her hands busy, to stop them from shaking. She was so close to Alexandra now. The phantom caress of her fingertips and the taste of her lips and tongue were driving her insane.

Abbie threw the dingy towel that had been hanging on the washbasin at Olivia. It was her turn to wrinkle her nose, but she was grateful for the opportunity to dry her damp hair. "Well, next time I offer to help you save your lady love, I am going to insist that put me up somewhere with a little more sophistication."

"Somewhere on the beach?" Olivia shot back.

"Only if it is sunny." Olivia was too tired to keep up the banter. She tossed the towel back at Abbie and then flopped back onto the bed. She was asleep before Abbie finished putting her nightgown on.

#

Elias struggled for days to cover for Captain Benoit's absence. First he wiped out the excuse that she was ill, and the Viscount didn't appear particularly concerned. But Elias knew it wouldn't stay that way forever, the Viscount was intent on moving up in the world and he had already plotted his path by climbing over the Captain and his less stellar family name. By the third day the Viscount was becoming antsy to discuss troop rotation and how it would affect the King's procession to Spain for the marriage of the Duc's daughter. Elias begged off, claiming that the Captain was highly contagious and that it was in the Viscount's best interest not to catch it.

He swallowed his resentment at the Captain's unexplained absence, but their friendship had pulled him out of many tight places in the past and he wasn't about to throw Olivier to the wolves. He just didn't know how long he could keep things buttoned down. Elias figured by the time this was all over, he would deserve a medal, or a promotion. However, baring the outbreak of a major military action, it was unlikely that the Captain's disappearance would negatively impact that daily business of the palace Musketeers. Elias had watched the Captain over the years, he could hold it together. He hoped.

#

Alexandra Cabot was seated in a ray of sunlight that matched the glorious color of the cascade of hair that fell around her shoulders. She dropped her embroidery into her lap when one of her lady's maids opened the door and announced the arrival of Lady Abigail Carmichael. Her heart missed a beat. Everything had seemed very gray since she had returned home, and the last of the color and warmth had finally escaped her life when her father announced to her over dinner one evening that he had agreed to have her marry Cesar Velez – an advantageous match for the Cabot family. She had sent the letter as a last effort to reach out to the woman who made her feel so alive, the woman who was a permanent part of her now. Olivia was under her skin, like an exquisite ache.

The maid held open the door and a slender, raven-haired woman sauntered in. Alexandra reminded herself to breath. Abigail was exactly everything that Alexandra was afraid she would be. She was beautiful and she oozed an easy sensuality that insinuated sexuality into each movement of her lean limbs. No wonder she was so important to Olivia.

Alexandra set her embroidery on the table beside her and rose, offering her hand to the other woman. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mademoiselle Carmichael. I have heard so much about you." In times of great stress, Alexandra fell back on her aristocratic manners to shield her vulnerability.

The two women were obviously sizing each other up. Abbie let her eyes drink in the vision in front of her. Alexandra was an absolute vision – soft gold and perfectly smooth ivory. Olivia always had good taste. She shamelessly allowed her gaze to linger at the swell of bosom that Alexandra's expensively tailored dress showcased. When Alexandra blushed, Abbie knew that her attention had not gone unnoticed.

"The pleasure is all mine, Lady Cabot." Abbie squeezed Alexandra's fingers lightly before releasing them. She took the seat that Alexandra indicated across from her own and they both sat. "I hear you have had some good news – your impending nuptials."

Alexandra flinched at the reminder of her situation. The brunette knew just where to stick the knife. She folded her hands in her lap, twining her fingers together tightly. "Yes. My father tells me that it is an excellent match for our family." Where was Olivia? She had never met Abbie and her appearance here was not a definitive indication that the Musketeer cared at all for her situation. She frowned as a thought crossed her mind – had Abbie heard about their affair and been jealous? Had she come to torment Alexandra?

Jealousy squeezed Abbie's chest. It had gnawed at her for some time, on and off. She had pushed it down for Olivia's sake. She had done too much to Olivia to expect her undying devotion after it all. But Alexandra was absolutely ridiculous. She looked like an angel and Abbie felt awkward and dark next to her.

"An excellent match for you. Princess consort of Spain. Surely such a lofty position is also a lonely one."

An opening – Alexandra considered. Verbal jousting was the only sport that Alexandra excelled at, but the last six months had worn down her former zest. Bringing up Olivia now could be exactly what Abbie wanted, either because she had been sent by her, or because she wanted to dig the knife in deeper. Better to bleed to death in front of this woman then to live her life wondering.

"No games. What are you here for, Lady Carmichael?"

"I'm here to help you."

Alexandra bit down on her lower lip to keep from letting slip more then she meant to. "I'm not sure that I understand your meaning, Lady Carmichael." To keep her hands busy, she grabbed her embroidery and began to work the needle through the fabric. The light blue thread slid through the fine linen with little effort, standing out in stark contrast. "You'll need to make yourself a little more plain." Abbie leaned over for a better view of the pattern which the blonde was creating and she recognized it immediately. It took her a moment to place it, though – the crest of the Benoit family, like the one in the lid of Olivia's familiar old chest.

"Oh, I think you do." Abbie gestured at the fabric, eliciting a blush from the blonde as her hands stilled. The thread, Abbie mused, was the exact same shade as Alexandra's eyes.

"Then, you're here with Captain Benoit?" Alexandra stumbled over the name, her voice cracking. Every night since she returned home she had dreamed of the Musketeer and awoken with her name on her lips but it was the first time she had even dreamed of saying it out loud.

The breathy quality of her tone was not lost on Abbie. Jealousy tore at her gut again. The uncontrollable urge to simply walk out nearly overcame Abbie, but she knew there was no way to explain that to Olivia, and no way to win Olivia back afterwards. She drummed her fingers against her knee to diffuse the nervous energy.

"Yes. But I'm sure you can understand why it is important that it remains quiet." Abbie swallowed visibly. "But, the Captain wanted me to come and to see you so I could assure –" she nearly said 'her' and then caught herself. Anyone could be listening and while it wasn't unusual for aristocratic women to have dalliances or unrequited passions for dashing military men, it would be disastrous for this military man's secret to come out. "—Him that you are well and…happy. And to let you know that he is working on a solution to your problem as soon as possible."

"You may tell the Captain I am well, but I could not lie and say that I am happy." Alexandra's hands began to move again. The needle in and out, in and out as the blue thread crawled across the linen. It was a shield, edged in light blue. She had already selected the gold thread for the helmet that sat atop the shield and the lion rampant that filled its interior. The exact shade of blue to fill the background of the shield had eluded her. She had intended to go into market the next day to try to find a suitable one. Fortuitous timing. "Tell him that I miss him and I look forward to seeing him."

Abbie nodded and then stood. The room was suffocating her. The love streaming out of Alexandra's eyes was killing her. She was going to choke but she remembered her manners, extending her hand to squeeze Alexandra's again and then kissing the air beside her cheek before silently taking her leave.

#

The swarthy man had been sent by Velez and the Duc had promptly ignored his existence after they had finished the negotiations over the marriage. He had spent weeks memorizing the face of all the maids, the local gentry who were frequent guests and the townspeople with whom the Duc did business. Abigail Carmichael was none of those people. When she left Alexandra's rooms, he followed her. He made a note of her horse and then quickly made his own way to the stables to retrieve his mount. Velez had been very specific in his instructions – anything unusual was to be investigated fully and reported immediately. Velez was unpleasantly paranoid, but the man appreciated his generous purse.


	10. Chapter 10

Alexandra sprang out of bed in the morning. Her newfound energy confounded her maids who had become accustomed to her darkening demeanor. Her father was pleased by her smile at breakfast and agreed that a trip to the market might be just the thing to prolong her good spirits. When she was out of his sight, he promptly forgot her and turned his mind to the heavy business of political maneuvering that occupied most of his waking thoughts.

There was no guarantee that she would see Olivia in town. Dijon was not small by any means, but the Saturday market was the busiest event of the week and most of the town's folk would be there are some point. She agonized over what to wear, much to the confusion of her maids. Everything about her seemed deeply uncharacteristic. They couldn't even guess at the emotional turmoil that was driving her. She finally settled on a sky blue dress to match her eyes and she left her hair brushed down around her shoulders to catch the sunlight for full effect.

The center of Dijon was packed; stalls built of weathered old wood formed progressively smaller squares with winding pathways between that were packed by all manner of humanity, shopping and sightseeing. Alexandra nearly despaired when she saw the size of the crowd, the likelihood of seeing or even recognizing her Musketeer in the daunting press was vanishingly unlikely. She let out a long steadying breath and resolved to at least find the right shade of thread.

#

Abbie had complained almost non-stop about the deplorable conditions of their lodging as soon as she returned from the Cabot estate. They had travelled together before and usually Abbie was a delightful partner, interested in the sights, engaging in conversation and adventurous to a fault. This trip was definitely a change. She was frustratingly tightlipped about her visit which had a two-fold purpose: to meet with and reassure Alexandra, and to study the general layout of the house and grounds. She assured Olivia she had done both, but was distinctly more interested in talking about the shape of the driveway and the size of the main foyer then in describing Alexandra's words, mood or looks.

Tired of Abbie's foul mood, Olivia suggested they head out into the market for the day. She needed some supplies for the plan she was beginning to formulate, and a little fresh air might cure whatever was ailing her companion. Abbie held Olivia's arm, leaning against the other woman possessively as they made their way through the crowd. She was warm against Olivia's side and in other circumstances, it would have been comfortingly familiar. Today, it set her teeth on edge, but she allowed the physical familiarity because a fight would have drawn dangerous attention to them.

Olivia bought Abbie a length of ribbon that complimented her complexion, eliciting the first smile from the other woman she had seen in days. The unexpected sight caused Olivia to lean over and kiss her cheek – their friendship would survive this, Olivia was sure. Olivia also bought a length of rope which she tossed over her free shoulder in a loop. She bought extra shoe-black, too. Abbie commented on how shiny her boots were already, but Olivia declined to explain.

After a couple of hours, Olivia followed the delicious smell of cooking meat and baking bread to find a food stand. She bought two meat pies, and then steered Abbie to an open grassy area for them to sit and eat. The meat pies were fresh and Olivia held hers with the tips of her fingers until it began to cool, but Abbie was ravenous, she inhaled the entire thing fast enough to not notice the burning on her tongue. She leaned back on one elbow and began to braid the ribbon through a long strand of her black, silky hair. "How do you stay so slim, you eat like a wild beast?" Olivia asked, laughing softly as she passed the pie back and forth in her hands.

Olivia was lifting the pie to her lips for the first bite when she caught sight of something through the crowd. A flash of shining gold against the matte colors of the market. She shot up, nearly dropping her pie in the process and startling Abbie. "What the hell?" Abbie was prone to unladylike language at inopportune moments.

"Wait here," Olivia said over her shoulder, tossing the food into Abbie's lap. "And eat that. I wouldn't want you to waste away." Before the other woman could reply, Olivia was melting into the crowd, following the bobbing golden beacon. She twisted in and out of the crowd, ducking past people and pushing when it seemed like she was about to lose sight of her goal and then, miraculously, the golden hair and its owner stopped at a booth, allowing Olivia to catch up. She came up behind them, and as she caught her first full glimpse of her quarry.

It was Alexandra in profile, the elegant lines of her face settled in beautiful repose. She was accompanied by a smaller woman, a maid undoubtedly. They stopped to browse through the stall's assortment of threads and sewing odds and ends. Olivia couldn't catch her breath; she couldn't calm her racing heart. She reached up, running her hands through her hair, wishing she had done a better job grooming herself that morning, wishing that she had packed nicer clothes.

"Lady Cabot," Olivia tried to make herself sound friendly as she made her way over. There was nothing particularly suspicious about spontaneously meeting an acquaintance in the market, Olivia assured herself. At the sound of her name in that familiar voice, Alexandra's head snapped up, the thread that she was examining slipping through her fingers. Olivia was at her side, smiling her crooked grin and acting nonchalant before she could formulate a sentence. "You looking stunning," Olivia murmured, close enough now to be heard without speaking at a normal volume.

Time stood still for Alexandra. The moment drew itself out turning one second into a thousand. She could smell Olivia's hair, feel the warmth coming from her body. It was almost as if she could feel the other woman's hands on hers even though they weren't touching. Olivia was a physical presence inside of her, echoing her actual presence.

"This is a pleasant surprise, Captain Olivier. A very pleasant surprise." Alexandra swayed toward Olivia unconsciously trying to get closer to her, desperate to press her body against her. The maid narrowed her eyes, frowning slightly at the odd interaction. "What do you think of this color?" Alexandra picked up the thread she had dropped, trying to recover her poise.

Any reply Olivia was preparing to make was interrupted by the sudden appearance of Abbie. "There you are!" She called, grabbing Olivia's arm as she made her way to her side. Her hand moved from Olivia's arm to snake around her waist when she noticed the company her friend was in. "Lady Cabot, a pleasure," she purred.

"I take it you finished your pie." Olivia glanced over at Abbie, but it was hard to keep her eyes off Alexandra, they kept wandering back. The spot on Olivia's hip where Abbie's hand rested was beginning to itch.

"Delicious." Abbie licked her lips in the most obscene fashion Alexandra had ever witnessed, causing her to blush a deep shade of crimson from her décolletage up her neck. Abbie smiled directly at her. "You did mention something about coming to the market, what excellent timing." The maid watched, shifting her weight back and forth on her feet, uncomfortable with the situation but unable to put her finger on what exactly was wrong.

The blush didn't recede, instead it crept up Alexandra's neck to stain her cheeks a matching red as she gazed for a tense moment at Abbie, then she took a step back. "Well, I'm glad to see you both. Where are you staying so I can send by some of my father's wine as a remembrance of Dijon?"

"Some dive, called I think the Golden Oak, over on the Rue de la Liberte," Olivia answered over her shoulder, already steering Abbie away from the increasingly tense situation. The growing distance between herself and Alexandra as they moved away through the market felt like a knife wound that was festering. It hurt more with every step and nothing could be done relieve the pain.

#

"And what did he look like?" Velez's man leaned in close, squeezing the maid's wrist too tightly, causing the bones to grind together. Tears were already streaming down her face and she had stopped struggling after the first blow. Whatever money he had offered her wasn't worth this, but she had realized that too late and now he would force her to break her mistress' confidence for free. Hopefully, he wouldn't break her wrist.

"Slender. Dark hair and eyes. He was wearing brown trousers and a faded shirt." The maid grasped for anything else that might satisfy her assailant. "Exotic cheekbones, very high. He was with a woman, who was Scottish I think. She had an accent. I remember that she visited the house the other day, to see the Lady."

"Names, you little slut. What were their names?" He shook her to punctuate his words. 

"Her name was Abigail Carmichael. I remember her being announced when she visited. I don't know who he is. No one said his name. But they were staying on the Rue de la Liberte, that's what he said. The Lady was going to send them wine."

Velez's man released her and she crumpled to the floor in front of him, cradling her hand to her chest. He didn't appear particularly concerned. His mind was obviously engaged elsewhere. He tossed a few meager coins at her and turned, disappearing down the corridor and into the shadows. It was time to pay the mystery man a visit; time to earn his salary.

#

Alexandra was truly stumped. She spent the better part of the day since returning from the market trying to devise a way out of the estate without anyone noticing. It didn't seem possible to escape her rooms, let alone retrieve her horse from the stables and make it into town without drawing attention. Maids swirled around her constantly; her father kept a bevy of servants, a host of stable hands and a garrison of personal guards. She resigned herself to the fact that at least for tonight, she wouldn't be able to make it to Olivia. What she needed, she finally decided, was a disguise and she turned the rest of the evening to devising a suitable one.


	11. Chapter 11

Abbie propped the heels of her shoes up on the chair across from her and spread out. She filled up the space around her, not physically but with her presence. Olivia on the other hand did her best to take up less space. She kept her elbows tucked in, her ankles crossed under her chair, her hair brushed down to partially hide her eyes. The common room was busier tonight then the night they checked in. There were a couple of groups scattered about, mostly they were dingy looking men trying their best to stay in the shadows. Olivia wiped the back of her mouth with her hand, brushing away the beer foam as she set her mug down.

They had been silent since they returned from the market a couple of hours before, but it was a pregnant silence; Olivia knew that Abbie had something she wanted to say – probably a lot she wanted to say. Abbie drained her entire mug of beer in a long pull and set it down heavily. "Olivia –"

Olivia cut her off with a wave of her hand before she drained the rest of her beer. She couldn't have whatever conversation was coming without more beer. "Abbie," she peered down at the bottom of her empty glumly. "I know that something is bothering you, but I want you to know that I really appreciate your help even if a surprise trip to Dijon wasn't your idea of a good time."

"I don't like her," Abbie let the words spill out, lubricated in their passage by the alcohol. "She's just so very blonde, and aloof. Not at all your type." She rushed on even though Olivia's face was turning an alarming shade of crimson. "You need someone that can keep up with you, not a sheltered princess who can't find her own tits with both hands in the dark."

Olivia bit back a retort about Abbie's extreme tendency toward finding other people's tits in the dark; she couldn't, however, corral the growl of anger that escaped. "I don't think you know my type, Abbie. And frankly, I don't think you've ever cared to find out." She stood up, nearly knocking the chair over, and grabbed her mug, making her way toward the bar. The bartender filled it to the brim, the foam head oozing over the sides and down onto Olivia's hands as she picked it up. The meat pie she had given to Abbie was the only food she had gotten near all day, and the beer was turning her stomach sour. To cure the growing problem in her belly, she drained the beer in a long swallow, rivulets of the amber liquid escaping out the corner of her mouth and dribbling down to stain her shirt.

She waited patiently for the now hesitant bartender to refill the mug again before stomping back to the table, slamming it down on the table causing a splatter of droplets to land on the dingy table top. It was probably the closest thing to a cleaning it had ever seen. "I get it," Olivia finally muttered, "I might be a military man, but I'm not a damn fool. You're jealous." The cat was out of the bag. "And I'm sympathetic. I've spent a decade being jealous of every damn man you've run off with. Every maid you've filled the in between with. I am intimately familiar with jealous," she nearly spat the last word.

Abbie was taken aback – the words got tangled in her brain behind a wall of inebriated surprise. Her heels hit the ground with a thud as she sat forward. Tears gathered at the corner of her eyes, causing the dark orbs to shimmer. She was beautiful, Olivia regretfully admitted to herself. Abbie had always been beautiful. For so long, she was the only person that had known Olivia's secret, going on as they had before was tempting. It would be easier – so seductively easy, she could reach out her hand, take Abbie back to her bed. Abbie's body was always gloriously responsive. Maybe the warm of her skin and the heat of her kisses would burn away the lingering feeling of Alexandra writhing beneath her.

"Dammit, Olivia. I didn't say I had a right to be jealous, but that doesn't mean I can stop the way I feel." Abbie lowered her chin, hiding her eyes with her long dusky eyelashes. "You're the only person I've ever been able to count on. The only person I have ever been able to trust. I don't deserve you." The tears streaming down her fast were matched by the ones in her voice. "But Alexandra doesn't deserve you either."

Olivia knew, deep down that she could never be enough for Abbie. "Lets go to bed. We're causing a scene." She abandoned the beer, offered Abbie her hand and led her up the stairs. They went to bed without talking again – silence was golden.

#

It was some kind of lover's quarrel, the man could make out that much. The woman was definitely foreign, with a purring accent that made even her angry words sound slightly seductive. He didn't care about the woman though, at least professionally. The strange man was much harder to get a read on. He was very angry and rather drunk. The pair had been drinking for quite some time. He didn't bother to count how much.

The strange man was strikingly slender, but he made up for it with a swagger. His hand stayed cocked near his hip, as if he was used to wearing a sword. Perhaps a military man. Velez's man leaned forward and narrowed his eyes, trying to catch more of the conversation, and then he caught the name 'Alexandra'. It confirmed his suspicions – Velez would not be pleased. There might be a way to make Velez happy, and earn a little extra for himself with his initiative, though.

The couple got up and headed for their rooms. Velez's man stood to follow, mentally memorizing which door was theirs.

#

A scraping noise at the door sent Olivia from a deep sleep into full alertness. The room was dark and she was too disoriented by the suddenness of her return to consciousness. Her pupils dilated, gathering as much light as they could. It took a long moment for them to adjust, but while Olivia was blind she wasn't still. Careful to avoid waking Abbie, she dropped onto the cold floor. She crouched, facing the door, and rummaged through her abandoned clothes to retrieve her long boot knife.

She crept silently toward the door, putting herself between Abbie and whatever was attempting to force the lock. The door creaked open a sliver, muted by the otherwise overwhelming silence of the night, and the tiny amount of light admitted from the hallway nearly blinded Olivia again. She adjusted her grip on the knife, coiling herself like a snake, preparing to strike. A shadow slipped partway into the room through the crack – it resolved itself into a manlike shape. There was a flash, light from the hallway glinting off a blade in the shadow's hand.

Olivia waited, holding her breath for the shadow to take another step and then she began to maneuver in behind him. A floorboard moved under the balls of her feet, giving away her position. As her opponent began to turn, surprised, he dropped his guard and she lunged. One hand shot out, catching the wrist holding his knife while her leg swept out knocking his legs out from under him. As he fell, she twisted him through the leverage on his arm and he landed flat on his chest with his knife hand jerked up behind his back. She dropped her knee into his spine, setting the cruel edge of her blade against his throat.

The man was subdued on the floor by the time Abbie woke up, screaming and holding the blanket to her chest. " Quiet!" Olivia shouted, immediately shutting the other woman up. "Close the door and barricade it, before you wake someone up."

Abbie leapt out of the bed and sprinted to the door, slamming it louder then Olivia would like. There wasn't much furniture in the room, so she was forced to barricade the door with the little table that the wash basin sat on. It wouldn't do much to deter the door being forced open, but it provided some kind psychological comfort. The man stayed silent throughout, but he did struggle sporadically, kicking his feet and trying to twist his torso to dislodge her. It caused her knife to slip once, nicking the side of his neck deep enough to draw blood.

"Stop it," Olivia growled and then elbowed him in the back of the head. His forehead slammed into the floor, splitting his lip. When she was satisfied the room was as secured as it could be and Abbie had retreated to sit on the bed, she leaned forward, placing her mouth near his ear. "Now, what is your name? And what the hell do you think you are doing?"

"You don't need my name." Blood and spit dribbled out of the corner of his mouth as he talked, mingling with the thin trickle of blood from his neck. Olivia wrenched his arm up higher, straining his elbow and shoulder. The pain would loosen his tongue.

"What is your name? Why are you here?" She repeated, steel in her voice.

"Ramòn," he finally relented a little. She jerked on his arm again, though, causing him to flop beneath her to try to relieve the pressure.

"And why are you here? If you make me repeat myself again, I'll break every one of your limbs." Her voice dropped, dangerously soft.

"To kill you." The words echoed. Abbie gasped and sat back. His response didn't surprise Olivia, though, there really wasn't any other reason to be creeping into someone's room at night.

"And who hired you?"

Velez's money filled his purse, but there was no reason to protect him now. "His highness, Don Cesar Velez." The name chilled Olivia's blood – Alexandra's fiancée.

"Well, up you get," Olivia lifted her knee and hauled the man to his feet without removing the knife from his throat. "You and me are going for a walk." She pushed him toward the door, kicking the back of his knee when he tried to drag his feet. "Go back to bed, I'll return soon," she told Abbie over her shoulder before closing the door behind them.

It was late enough no one was in the common room when Olivia led her captive through it and out into the night. The moon was waning, so there was little light to betray their passage. She forced him down the street a ways and into an alley. Like all cities, Dijon had an intricate labyrinth of back alleys and narrow side-streets populated by all manner of criminals and villains. They wound their way through the darkness until she was satisfied they were deep enough into the city and far enough from her lodgings.

She clubbed him in the back of the head and he fell heavily to the cobbles, unconscious. With deft hands she removed his clothes and used his shirt and pants to bind his hands and feet. If he was lucky enough to avoid having his throat cut by a footpad, it would be a while before anyone let him loose. She thought about breaking his legs, just for good measure, but her code of honor just wouldn't allow her to harm an unarmed man, no matter how dangerous. It wasn't likely he would survive the night like that anyway.

Abbie was still awake when she got back. Olivia let her lay her head on her shoulder, wrapping her arms around the other woman to comfort her. They fell asleep and made it through the rest of the night without another interruption.

#

The next day Olivia began to lay the foundations for her plan. She hadn't thought through all the consequences, admittedly, but she couldn't stand to let Alexandra linger any longer, especially now that she knew the depth of Velez's danger. She rode out to the Cabot estate and circled it, which took a good part of the morning. It was huge and the perimeter was well guarded. She made a mental note of the weak points that she could exploit in the dark. There was no way to get near the house and she didn't have any clue where Alexandra's rooms were – that would be a fatal design flaw.

She returned around noon, wrote a letter to Elias and paid extra gold to have it delivered straight away then took Abbie out for a nice lunch. As if by silent mutual agreement, they didn't talk about any events of the day before and instead reminisced about their many shared moments. The day passed quickly, and Olivia had begun to fit the pieces together in her mind that would create her foolhardy rescue attempt, but she still didn't share it with Abbie.

To calm Abbie down, when they went to bed, Olivia drug the table in front of the door again and slept with her knife under her pillow. She didn't expect the man to be stupid enough to return, at least not right away and not in the same fashion, but one could never be to careful.

She had just begun to drift off to sleep when the doorknob rattled, and then the door crashed against the table, knocking it over.


	12. Chapter 12

Alexandra finally found the perfect opportunity. Her maid wasn't feeling well, so Alexandra suggested she take a nap, offering to cover for her if anyone asked about her. The young lady smiled her gratitude and slipped away, leaving Alexandra alone for the evening. As soon as the door closed, she raced to her closet and pulled out the bundle she had hidden in the back under a pile of shoes. She changed out of her dress, an awkward action since none of her clothing was designed to be put on or removed alone, and pulled on the old men's clothes she had paid a laundress in town for a few days before. She twisted her distinctive blonde hair up and tucked it beneath the accompanying cap.

Operation complete, she checked herself out in the mirror. She didn't really pass for a man in the direct light, but perhaps in the darkness where no one would be looking at her too hard, she would be alright. Getting out of the estate would be the hard part. She opened her door just enough to peer out, waiting for the hallway to clear, and then she slipped out. Every noise she heard caused her to duck around a corner, hiding until she was below stairs. A ratty young man didn't make much of a splash amongst the servants.

She hitched a ride on a merchant's cart heading back into town after refilling the estate's larder. She sat on the back of the wagon, letting her legs dangle over the edge, kicking her feet back and forth. The feeling of wearing pants was new, liberating. Evening had completely settled over the city by the time the merchant dropped her off, several blocks from the inn where Olivia was staying. Like pants, being on her own in the city was an exhilarating new experience.

No one gave her a second glance as she made her way purposefully down the street. She tried to channel Olivia's swagger and her easy almost masculine stride to camouflage herself. How well it worked, she didn't feel experienced enough to gauge, but she was rather proud when she arrived at the door to the Golden Oak Inn without getting harassed. The common room was blissfully free of customers when she entered. No one would remember her here. She made her way to the bar, trying to project a confidence she didn't feel as she leaned over the bar and tapped it with her fingertips to get the innkeep's attention.

"You have a lodger by the name of Benoit here?" She asked when the man finally wandered over to her. He shook his head, not even bothering to verbalize his response. Of course, Alexandra mentally shook herself, Olivia wouldn't have used her real name. "A slender man with a stunning brunette?" She tried again.

"Now that's the sort of information that I might have. But, it isn't the sort of thing I would just give out for _free_. I value the privacy of my guests," the innkeeper drawled, flashing her a big grin that showed off his several missing teeth.

Alexandra never handled money. In fact, she couldn't remember the last time she had seen money. When she went shopping, the bill was simply sent to her father. Everything she could possibly want was usually handed to her as soon as her whim was made known. A lack of money was a serious deficiency in her plan that had previously gone unnoticed, and dressed as a boy she couldn't even try to use her feminine charms to overcome her sudden poverty. She hadn't taken off the simple gold chain she had worn to dinner when she changed, and it remained tucked under the collar of her shirt. Her father had given it to her on their trip to Rome a few years before. There was no other option though, she refused to come this far without seeing Olivia, tasting her again. It was worth the price.

She reached into her collar and unclasped the chain, dropping it into her palm and offering it to the innkeeper. "This should be more than enough for you to overcome your qualms."

"Upstairs, second door on the right." The innkeeper's hands moved so fast that Alexandra had no idea where he stashed her necklace.

#

Olivia had just begun to drift off to sleep when the doorknob rattled, and then the door crashed against the table, knocking it over. The two occupants of the bed sat straight up in surprise as Alexandra stumbled through the door. She had intended to make a quiet entrance, maybe wake Olivia up softly with her lips, but instead she tripped over the overturned table and took a header into the floor. As she pushed herself up onto her knees she caught sight of Olivia springing out of bed – a bed it appeared she was sharing with Abbie.

There was no time for her to process the sharp stab of jealous that observation provoked before it was replaced by an actual sharp feeling as Olivia jerked her to her feet, pressing her knife to her throat. "Don't you people ever learn? Two in two nights? This time I am actually going to have to kill you," Olivia growled directly into her ear. Under other circumstances, the feeling of Olivia's warm breath caressing the sensitive shell of her ear and the press of Olivia's breasts against her back would have been intensely arousing.

"Please don't kill me," Alexandra yelped. She reached up, pulling her hat off to allow her long blonde hair to fall around her shoulders. "Its me, Alexandra."

The knife immediately fell away and she felt the rhythmic breathing of the woman behind her stop. Alexandra didn't move a muscle, afraid that she might trigger another violent reaction, but her position left her unfortunately facing Abbie, clearly able to see her sleep rumpled hair and the top of her rather ephemeral nightgown as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. Olivia began breathing again all of a sudden, nearly panting as her hands settled on Alexandra's waist and spun her around to face her. She thought maybe now would be a good time to voice her displeasure about whatever was going on with the sleeping arrangements, but the jealousy and the panic that was beginning to grow at the realization of all that she had done that evening was driven entirely from her mind when Olivia's lips swept down to capture hers in a heated kiss.

Alexandra whimpered as Olivia's tongue traced her bottom lip. Her knees, already unsteady from her fall, gave out entirely and she fell against Olivia's solid frame. The other woman's arms tightened around her, holding her up, as their kiss never faltered.

"Ok, break it up. I don't need to see the two of you make sweet passionate love on the floor," Abbie growled, shocking Alexandra back to reality and reminding her that she was mad about whatever was going on in here. Only Abbie could make words like sweet and love sound like epithets. Alexandra pulled away from Olivia's lips, glaring over her shoulder at the other woman. Abbie climbed out of bed, revealing a lot of smooth pale flesh and stomped to the chair where she had piled her clothes. Radiating annoyance, she began to dress swiftly. Olivia neither verbally responded nor visibly reacted as Abbie pushed past the pair and stormed out of the room. If the entire inn weren't already awakened by the noise of Alexandra's amateur break in, the sharp slamming of the door behind Abbie as she exited would have woken them.

"What are you doing here?"  
"What is she doing in your bed?"

They both asked at the same instant. Alexandra took a few steps back, blowing out a calming breath before dropping into the chair that Abbie had just cleared of clothing. Maybe, she thought, this wasn't the best plan she had ever had. By now, someone had probably noticed she was gone. She would have to come up with a lie to her father, and all to find out that she was – whatever she was doing with Abbie in here in a the room which conspicuously only had a single rather small bed. The euphoria of her escape from the Cabot estate and her success at passing for a boy was waning, leaving her with the simple reality that she may have gone too far to reach a woman she hardly knew.

Olivia slipped the knife back into its sheath under her pillow. No reason for anyone to get accidentally stabbed. Alexandra was here – just the other woman's presence nearly sent her heart beating out of her chest. Her subtle scent was already insinuating itself into the air, causing Olivia to breathe deeply, trying to capture it all. Words were never Olivia's forte, and she couldn't think of what to say here to relax Alexandra who was obviously wound tight. The truth might be best at this point. "Are you angry about me and Abbie sleeping in the same bed?" Asking the question might help, Olivia reasoned, maybe she was misreading the other woman's discomfort.

"And you wouldn't be angry if you thought I had come to help you and I was sleeping with…" Alexandra's voice trailed off. They had never really spoken about their lives, their pasts, or their relationships. What exactly Abbie was to Olivia, she didn't know. Of course, she could make an educated guess. She laced her fingers together in her lap, flexing them against each other until the knuckles turned white. What did she even know about Olivia anyway – except the way her body reacted to her touch and the strange way she had become lodged in Alexandra's mind? "This was a very bad idea." The words were out of her mouth as soon as she thought them. She was actually a little afraid of the intensity of the situation which seemed to have gotten so far out of hand. "Someone has noticed I am gone, I'm sure and I obviously interrupted something."

She stood up and was halfway to the door before Olivia reached out, catching her arm and stopping her in her tracks. "Look, its not what you think. Abbie and I are old friends." Olivia sighed softly. "I'm not the daughter of the Duc, this little adventure is costing me money I can ill afford. I can't pay for another room for Abbie to sleep in when neither of us are uncomfortable in the same bed."

"Oh, I'm sure you're _very_ comfortable in the same bed," Alexandra spat back. She was angry at Olivia, but mostly angry at herself for acting like such a fool for a complete stranger – extremely un-Cabot-like behavior.

"We need to talk." Olivia's voice was soft, but commanding and she didn't release Alexandra's arm. "Stay."

Alexandra reluctantly allowed herself to be lead toward the bed and guided onto it. Struggling physically against Olivia would be futile she rationalized. She stretched out next to Olivia, settling her head against the other woman's shoulder, encircled by her strong arms. It felt right. Everything about the position felt natural, except the doubts had dug their way in and she couldn't dislodge them.

"Who are you, Olivia? How did you end up here – like this?"

"Well." Alexandra could feel the vibration of Olivia's chuckle more than she could hear it. "I ended up here, like this, by falling in love with an impossible woman and then she broke into my room and I lured her into my bed."

The blonde couldn't help but laugh softly in response, but her mirth was hollow and did nothing to dispel the tension that had built around the evening. She wasn't really surprised at Olivia's deflection – a lifetime of lies would make exposing the truth of oneself a horrible vulnerability. Olivia didn't seem like the kind of woman that appreciated being vulnerable.

"I'd appreciate something a little more informative then what I already knew. Like, how you ended up dressed like a man and going by a man's name – a Musketeer!" Alexandra ran her hand down to the hem of Olivia's nightshirt and then slipped her fingers beneath it to stroke Olivia's taut belly. She knew that she shouldn't be doing it; touching Olivia wouldn't make it easier to remain objective about the situation and she needed to remain focused. Her skin, silky stretched across solid muscles, was magnetic; she literally couldn't pull her fingers away. "Benoit – your family is from Britanny isn't it?"

"We own a modest estate several miles outside of Nantes. My mother still lives there," Olivia offered, but didn't expand further. She turned her head, setting her cheek against the pillow which hid her eyes from Alexandra. "When my brother died, I took his name and his commission. And now here I am."

The doubt flared up again causing Alexandra to shift restlessly in Olivia's arms. The woman had essentially offered her nothing – a single scrap of information: she had once had a brother, but that was all. How had she persuaded her mother to go along with her ruse? And why had Olivia even cooked it up? Where did Abbie enter the picture and how?

An epiphany washed over Alexandra; she was at a crossroads and suddenly she could clearly see where the two paths diverged. She could be the Queen Consort of Spain, married to a man of questionable personality and virtue but uplifting the Cabot name. There would be no love that way, but maybe it would be safer for her heart to remain safely locked in her chest where strange women couldn't break it. Or she could let herself be carried away by the romance of the surreal relationship she was building with a woman who had built walls around herself so thick that Alexandra despaired of ever being able to break through.

"I have to go." Alexandra slipped out of Olivia's arms and beat a hasty retreat, nearly barreling over Abbie as the other woman came through the door – she must have been tired of waiting.


	13. Chapter 13

**AN: Ok, I know this is short, but I really wanted to get it out here for everyone that has been so supportive. Its been way too long between updates, I know, so I'm tossing this out so you guys know I am still alive and still working on this. I'd give you my excuse about how crazy life has gotten, but really, that doesn't have anything to do with the story, so here you go. Also, thank you everyone for the reviews. Knowing what is working and what isn't working helps me make it all better for you, the readers.**

Olivia caught her toe in the trailing bed sheets as she tried to spring up, sending herself plummeting face first into the ground. Alexandra was gone, the door closing at the point of impact and she didn't return at the sound of the cursing. Silence settled over the room – Abbie remained in the doorway, her expression dark, and Olivia surrendered to the floor, laying flat on her back fighting back tears. The click of the door as it closed behind Alexandra echoed through her head like the death knell of her dreams. Maybe it _was_ all a mistake – a mistake to think she could have a relationship, that she could overcome the barriers she had built around herself to have an actual connection with someone else.

Abbie finally moved out of the doorway, helping Olivia up and easing the now mute woman into bed. The next morning Olivia rode out to the Cabot estate but was turned away, Mademoiselle Cabot had no interest in seeing her now or in the future. The doorman peered curiously at Olivia who offered no hint as to the purpose of her visit. She frowned deeply at the news he delivered but didn't linger to offer any argument. It was a long ride back to the palace and the earlier they set out, the sooner she could relieve Elias of his worry.

#

"I don't even want to know." Elias covered his face with his hands, blocking the view of a mud covered Captain Olivier, his face still red from the cold blowing wind he had ridden through. "I am going to pretend like none of this has happened, and sometime in the future, when you are buying me beer, you can explain it all."

Olivia threw her gloves onto her bed, too angry and tired to try to come up with an adequate lie for Elias anyway. Their relationship worked largely because he never pushed too hard and she never expected too much. "I don't think there is anything to explain. I was stupid." She threw her saddlebag after her gloves.

"I see that Abbie girl is back," he let his sentence trail off meaningfully. For years he had watched Abbie drift in and out of Olivia's life, bringing with her a whirlwind of catastrophe with each appearance. It was only reasonable to assume that whatever had prompted Captain Olivier's departure was related to the woman's return. Olivia just waved his unspoken question off. She needed a bath and sleep, not an interrogation.

"Also, the Viscount has been asking for you. The King's entourage is already gearing up for the wedding." Elias was already sick of hearing about the wedding, and it was still months away; by the time they finally arrived at the happy event he would probably be ready to punch someone. "I've been putting him off. He probably thinks you've had all your limbs amputated. I told him you were very ill."

"Could you tell him that I'll see him in the morning?"

"Of course." Elias turned to leave the little room.

"And – thanks," Olivia's voice wavered momentarily as the tears she had been holding inside nearly spilled over. Elias threw a smile over his shoulder before closing the door behind him.

#

There was no word from Alexandra after that. Months drifted by in a haze. Events occurred that barely marked her memory as they slipped past. Days blended together, always shorter than the empty lonely nights that separated them. Abbie stopped coming around – Olivia wouldn't talk to her and they had nearly had a physical altercation when Abbie tried to entice her into her bed. She lingered, not setting off to find a new corner of the continent to collect a rich lordling from, worried that as soon as she was gone Olivia would finally fade out of existence.

The entire Palace seemed to disappear into trunks. A royal wedding between the crown prince of Spain and the daughter of the most powerful Duc in France required the display of the full splendor of France's monarchy. Olivia oversaw the preparation of a Musketeer honor guard – at least that was what her body was doing. Her soul was absent. Her passion had fled and it showed. Her men began to talk, murmuring about the strange illness that had felled her completely weeks before. Maybe the fever had touched her brain, but her competence was unquestionably intact so no one made waves.

The day the long train that compromised the royal household and its sundry retainers and baggage departed on the first stage of its lengthy journey to Spain, Olivia didn't speak a word. The next day she was similarly silent. The only thing she said that entire week was "No" when Elias asked if she was thirsty. The single word was uttered several hours out of Dijon and raised his hopes that she might improve as the trip wore on, but the silence remained. A deep frown etched itself across her face when the royal household was joined by the Cabot family's party. It deepened with every mile. Elias noticed she took great pains to avoid anyone wearing the Cabot family's colors.

Captain Olivier brooded. He did it often and well, but always with the passion of a man who retained his love of life. This mood was different. He was grey and dark. There was nothing behind his eyes. Elias knew he had left their discussion too long. When they camped for the night after they joined with the Cabots, he positioned herself next to Olivier on the logs the men had rolled next to the fire.

"Did Abbie have your baby?" The notion was the first that had come to mind after Olivier's extended absence. Hiding a bastard child was not unheard of and Olivier did have a way with the ladies.

Olivia choked on the drought of beer that she was just swallowing. The amber liquid shot out of her nose, wetting the front of her traveling garb. Breathing was momentarily halted until she coughed the extra liquid out of her windpipe. "No," she sputtered, pounding a fist against her chest to help clear her airways.

"Did she have someone else's baby and then ask for your help in extorting money from the father?" He was visibly grasping at straws. In their years of friendship they rarely talked about Olivier's personal life. He didn't have the faintest clue where to start in finding the source of Olivier's malaise.

Olivia almost regretted the fact she couldn't use the choking excuse a second time. She set the tin cup still half full of beer onto the ground next to her feet and used her now free hands to scrub the back of her neck. "She never had anyone's baby. At least as far as I know."

"Did she try to trick you into eloping with her?" Elias leaned closer to Olivier, almost conspiratorially.

"Not a damn chance."

He sighed, leaning away from Olivier again. There was no way to get inside of his friend's walls. No way to help if he couldn't find out what was wrong. "Fine." Olivia picked up her beer, taking another deep swallow. She allowed the silence to stretch out, uncomfortable with evening mentioning Alexandra obliquely. She knew that somewhere nearby, the blonde was getting ready for bed – brushing her silky hair, slipping her nightgown over her smooth shoulders. Did she think about Olivia as she was slipping off to sleep or where her dreams dominated by the figure of her fiancée?

"I was in love." Olivia offered Elias the first real glimpse of her inner life with those words.

"With Abbie?"

"No. Another woman, well out of my league too." The truth hurt and forming it into words manifested it tangibly, like a knife wound that had reopened.

"Oh." Elias meant to leave it at that. Olivier obviously didn't want to talk about it, but the curiosity was too much for him to ignore. "Who was it?"

The pain overrode her caution and the name escaped her before she could bite down on her traitorous tongue. "Alexandra Cabot."


	14. Chapter 14

Elias didn't respond to the revelation. He slapped his palms against his knees firmly and then stood. He walked back and forth in front of Olivia for a few minutes, muttering under his breath to himself. She wasn't sure what to do – he seemed to be growing more upset with every passing minute. Elias had a temper, but it was usually reserved for others. Now she was afraid it was about to be turned on her.

"Look, I'm sorry for not telling you. I'm sorry for putting you through everything while I was gone. It was a mistake," Olivia gestured lamely, trying to make Elias understand why she had hidden such an important piece of information from her best friend. "I won't make a mistake like that again."

"So the mistake is over? Does that mean you…consummated the mistake?" Elias finally dropped his hands to his sides and turned to face Olivia squarely. Thoughts rushed through his head, tumbling over each other like leaves caught in a raging river – what had Olivier done? And what would happen to them all if the Duc of Burgundy found out?

Just the idea of talking about the physical intimacy she had shared with Alexandra made her own temper peak. Without warning she threw her half empty tin cup at Elias's head, spraying an arc of amber liquid in a tail behind it as it flew. He ducked, raising his arms to protect his face and the cup bounced off his forearms and into the fire. The commotion was beginning to draw a curious audience. People paused as they hurried about setting up camp to catch a glimpse of whatever was occurring, but the glare that Olivier shot each one sent them quickly back to their business.

"Over. Its all over. Now shut up, I'm feeling tired." She retreated quickly to her tent before she could expose herself any further.

#

Liam Connors cracked his knuckles, each in turn. The noise grated on Alexandra's already thinly stretched nerves. Each mile that separated her from her family's home in Dijon added to the uneasy feeling that had lodged itself beneath her ribcage since she had resigned herself to her marriage.

Alexandra had tossed away love, she knew that and every time she reminded herself of that fact it made her eyes burn, but she had done it for good reasons – or so she assured herself. She was a Cabot. Cabot's did not put personal pleasure before family ambition. Deeper than that, the strength of her attraction to the unorthodox Musketeer had deeply rattled her usually cool demeanor and as Olivia stonewalled her at each attempt to find out more about her, she had become more concerned with what her passion was doing to her own conception of herself. She would not dismantle her entire life for the love of a woman that couldn't, or wouldn't, let her in.

A royal marriage planned to bring together two of Europe's foremost families didn't come with the expectation of love between the two spouses. Indeed, if it was anything like the other aristocratic marriages she had witnessed she would rarely have to interact with her new husband. After she produced an heir, she could easily avoid having to share his bed even infrequently. She would resign herself to a lonely life, the sort of life she had expected to lead before she met Olivia.

But, then her future husband had sent Liam Connors. Not long after Olivia and Abbie had left Dijon, the Irishman had arrived. His job was to ensure her safety, he had explained in his harsh accent, and to assure her loving fiancée that everything was well in hand. She suspected that he was up to more than just the duties of his official capacity. He disappeared for long stretches at a time and frequented places and people that were well beneath his social station. Her father was too distracted to care about Connors and he wouldn't have cared to hear about her misgivings even if he had time to talk to her.

Being cooped up in a carriage was one of Alexandra's least favorite activities. She preferred to ride. The exercise calmed her and allowed her to think, trapped in the confines of a stifling carriage with Liam Connors cracking his knuckles incessantly made it impossible for her to order her thoughts, to maintain her equilibrium.

He occasionally cast a hooded look in her direction, but never attempted to engage her in conversation. At least she appreciated that. Small talk was an aristocratic skill she never acquired, and Connors was wholly unsavory. She wasn't in the least bit interested in a single thing he had to say. The carriage finally rolled to a halt. Night was setting in and they had caught up to the main body of the travelling party. The camp was nearly entirely pitched and she was grateful to know there would be a warm dry, unmoving place for her to sleep that evening.

Like he had for the last several days, Liam Connors loitered around her tent. He managed to make the act of skulking in the shadows seem purposefully malevolent. As the lights in her tent went out, signaling that Alexandra had turned in for the night, Connors broke from his position near the entrance to the tent and headed off into the darkness. He had reports about a man, and Velez had been unhappy when he had delivered them. The actual state of Alexandra's modesty wasn't an integral part of the Prince's plan, but he was a man of honor – no one would be touching his bride and expecting to survive.

The description of the man had been vague, and unfortunately, Connor's operative had been in rather bad shape when he had managed to make his report. Ruffians had done their best to beat him nearly to death after Alexandra's erstwhile lover had left him incapacitated in an alley. The description and what little information Connor's had been able to scrap up pointed in one direction: Olivier Benoit, Captain of the King's Royal Musketeers. Some arm twisting and a little bruising here and there had gotten the gossip from the maids, confirming his other sources; while it had been reported that Captain Benoit was ill, he had actually not been present at the Palace when Connor's operative had been so brutally assaulted. The Captain also consorted with a dark haired wench, matching the description the operative had given of the man's companion. Not conclusive, he decided, but enough to make him suspicious.

The contingent of Musketeers was camped on the other side of the King's tents from the Cabot's – as far as they could be from the Duc's family. He darted through the shadows, avoiding prying eyes, as he made his way. The King had his personal guard, the Musketeers were simply for show and so there were few of them on the trip which made it easy to find the campfire that Captain Olivier and another man were sitting at.

He settled against the corner of a nearby tent, behind the two as they conversed but close enough to hear most of their words. Neither expected an audience, and they had not lowered their voices. And the things that Liam heard were damning. Murdering the Captain of the King's Musketeers on the road would cause too many questions and it would settle a suspicious pall over the coming nuptials. Everything had to go smoothly if Velez's plan were to be executed successfully. Connors marked the tent that Captain Benoit retired to and then slipped away. This marriage would be awash in blood, Connors mused gleefully.

#

The road was dry and hard packed. It had been several days since the last rain, which was fortunate for the travelling party. Trying to drag so many people and so much baggage through knee-deep mud would have seriously delayed the impending nuptials. It also allowed Olivia to ride without paying much attention to what was going on around her. Her horse was more than capable of staying on the track. Her mind wandered, drifting to the same place that it always did, the feel of Alexandra's smooth skin and the sweet smell of her hair. She barely began to enjoy her daydream when her horse stepped on a rock and cantered to the side, jolting her back to reality – a reality where she had managed to push Alexandra away.

She was wallowing so deep in her own misery that she didn't hear the hoof beats of the Viscount's approach. "Captain Olivier." His piebald stallion matched pace with her own black mare's easy gait.

"Viscount Coquille," she acknowledge him, barely nodding her head in greeting. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"It's a beautiful day for riding isn't it?" Olivia ignored his small talk, refocusing her eyes on the backs of the men riding in front of her. "We're not far from the border country either. Remarkable time we're making." She remained impassive. "Which means, I suppose, that we need to talk about security while we're in Spain."

Finally, she looked over, eyebrow arched quizzically. "I thought we covered this before we left. The King's Guard will provide primary support, and we're supposed to stand around and looking dashing next to those dour Spaniards. You know, inspire awe in the might and culture of France."

The Viscount laughed sharply – a calculated noise totally unrelated to an actual expression of mirth, like he had learned it and practiced it. "It seems like your role will be slightly largely then impressing the ladies in your tight pants. Mademoiselle Cabot requested a personal honor guard this morning. Apparently, being this far from home has made her jumpy." He laughed again, at the foibles of womankind. "The King, such a soft hearted man when it comes to the Duc's side of the family, has offered his own Musketeers to set her at ease."

Olivia's stomach lurched, threatening to expel her meager breakfast. "Is that entirely necessary?" She asked sharply to hide her sudden panic.

"The King thinks so – which means that it is absolutely necessary. Gather your men, join the lady's carriage." The Viscount spurred his horse, pulling away from Olivia. "And, try your best to look competent enough to help calm the lady," he shot over his shoulder.

#

Liam Connors twitched the curtain of the carriage closed and dropped back against the seat smirking. The King's Musketeers had drawn up around the carriage, riding two deep on either side and he would imagine there were a few in front and behind – a guard. He had spoken personally to the King, claiming that Alexandra was afraid but too embarrassed to speak to him directly. The King was only too happy to help, an early wedding present. Keep your enemies closer.

Alexandra frowned at the increased thunder of hooves. She glanced sideways at the Irishman before peering out the window and directly at the profile of the one Musketeer she never intended to see again.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: I know the updates have been a little slow lately, but I hope this makes up for it.**

Olivia's chocolate brown eyes met Alexandra's blue ones and for an instant, Olivia couldn't breathe. Her chest constricted around her heart and lungs – this is what dying feels like, she mused. She tightened her hands on the reins, tugging back on her stead's head causing him to slow. They dropped away from the carriage, shielding Olivia from Alexandra's gaze. Her pulse slowly returned to normal, saving her from a heart attack that would have sent her reeling off her horse.

She had hoped, vainly, that she would be able to hold herself together the next time she saw Alexandra. The blonde's presence affected her in a way that no one ever had. She blew out a long shaky breath, then dug her heels in, drawing back into formation. She would suck it up – she was a Musketeer.

#

Alexandra settled back into her seat. When her gaze connected with Olivia's a growing pain had begun to expand in her chest, prompting an epiphany of nearly earth shattering proportions. Olivia was worth it and just because she had beautiful muscles and a rakishly masculine swagger didn't meant that Alexandra could expect to simply lean on her and allow her to dictate the course of their relationship. Just because Olivia looked strong physically, didn't mean she was strong emotionally – obviously she needed Alexandra to rescue her.

#

They stopped for the evening just on the French side of border. Olivia was becoming increasingly certain that Alexandra was trying to torture her until she died an agonizing death. Liam Connors stepped out of the coach just as the travelling party pulled to a stop and informed her that the Lady requested their assistance pitching camp. She bit her lip to keep from snapping that the Lady's retainers had had no problem any of the other evenings setting up her camp without their help. Someone might get suspicious of why the Captain of the King's Musketeers wanted to stay as far as humanly possible away from the Lady who she was helping to escort.

The hellish turn of events only got worse. No sooner had Olivia brushed down her horse and stripped off her riding cloak and gloves to begin assisting Elias pitch one of the numerous tents that was required for the Cabot family, then a maid tapped her on the shoulder – Lady Cabot wanted Captain Benoit's assistance with her personal tent. No explanation was offered. Dusk was falling, the shadows thrown by the bustling people growing longer but the darkness couldn't dull the shimmer of the flaxen locks that fell around Alexandra's shoulders.

She didn't say anything to Olivia, or react visibly to her presence as the Musketeer rolled up the sleeves of her shirt, exposing her forearms and set about driving the stakes into the ground to anchor Alexandra's tent. It didn't escape her notice that no one else was working to raise it, she was alone at her labor. The blonde moved around to settle herself lightly on the edge of a chest, brushing her skirt smooth across her lap. Her position offered her a perfect vantage of the Musketeer.

Sweat beaded on Olivia's brow. The poles for the tent were awkward for one person to maneuver on their own, and the canvas of the walls was heavy. Her shirt pulled taut across her straining back, slicked against her skin by the sheen of perspiration she was working up. She straightened up, wiping one tan forearm across her forehead and then glanced over covertly at Alexandra. The woman was watching intently, leaning forward on the edge of the chest with her hands gripping her knees tightly. A slight flush stained her cheeks. As Olivia surreptitiously spied on her, pretending to catch her breath, the tip of Alexandra's tongue flicked out, wetting her lips unconsciously.

Olivia's eyes lingered on the blonde's moist lips and nearly forgot to breathe again. Mentally she slapped herself and then turned back to her exertions with renewed purpose. If someone was helping her, she could have made short work of the tent, but by herself the task was taking significantly longer. Olivia tried to mentally comfort herself - at least it gave Alexandra an extensive amount of time to ogle what she would be missing when she said 'I do' to the Prince of Spain.

The tent finally erected, Olivia turned to leave without a word, but Alexandra stopped her by calling out, "Captain Benoit!'

She spun on her heels, drawn up short by the unexpected sound of her own name. It was a reflex for her to glance around to see if anyone else was watching, if the situation seemed strange to anyone else. They were as alone as they could get without actually being inside the newly constructed tent. She toyed with the idea of simply walking away, but she knew she was only kidding herself if she actually believed she could ever ignore Alexandra.

"Did you need anything else, Lady Cabot?" Olivia moved back toward the chest and the woman perched upon it.

"Yes," Alexandra stood up gracefully, shaking out her skirt. "If you could be so kind as to move my chest into the tent," she indicated her former seat.

"Don't you have servants?" Olivia asked. Her exasperation didn't stop her from moving around the blonde, giving her a wide berth, and picking up the chest without waiting for an answer. As she settled her burden in the corner out of the way, she heard the tent flap rustle and then drop, leaving her in the semi-gloom and not alone.

"Olivia," Alexandra whispered her name in a husky tone, stepping up behind the Musketeer to wrap her arms around her waist, pressing her breasts into the firmly muscled back she had been so recently admiring. "I've missed you." She lowered her lips to the back of Olivia's neck, exposed as her head dropped forward. "I'm scared without you," she murmured around the feather-light kisses she rained across Olivia's nape and around the column of her throat. She stepped forward, pressing Olivia's hips against the chest. "You promised to save me. Maybe you need me to save you too – save us."

Olivia didn't respond – her body was on fire, heat pooling between her thighs. She didn't struggle against Alexandra's hold, and instead tried to focus on staying upright under the sensual assault. Alexandra felt so good; she smelled so good. Olivia wanted to be rescued, but she knew what Alexandra wanted from her and it terrified her. Alexandra wanted the truth. She needed Olivia to open her barriers and finally allow her inside.

While Olivia tried to order her thoughts, Alexandra had worked her hand down into the front of her tight trousers, loosening the laces so that she could slide her palm down through Olivia's dark curls to cup her heat. "So, we are going to do this my way." The blonde's touch was searing. Olivia couldn't figure out where exactly Alexandra had found this sudden well of brazenness. Maybe preparing for a wedding brought out the hussy in aristocratic ladies? Long, slender fingers slid along Olivia's dampness, causing her hips to buck forward involuntarily. "You're going to tell me about yourself. And when you stop…" Alexandra paused meaningfully as she teased the Musketeer, "…I stop."

"What do you want to know?" Olivia rolled her head back so that it rested against Alexandra's shoulder.

"How did you become a Musketeer? And why?" Alexandra spoke directly against the shell of Olivia's ear, her soft lips tickling the delicate flesh.

"My brother," Olivia gasped. The sensations were overwhelming her. She had to stop and force herself to remember salient details of her own life. It was almost as if her entire brain where being erased by the mindless aching need that Alexandra was creating between her legs. "He had a commission, but he was thrown from a horse. We looked a lot alike. At least after I cut my hair."

"What about your parents? How did you convince them to go along with such an outrageous ruse?"

Olivia whimpered. Who wanted to talk about their parents while their body was coiling tight from pure lust? "My father ran off with a maid before I was born and my mother…" She let the sentence trail off, biting her lower lip.

"Your mother?" Alexandra's fingers slowed, threatening to still.

"I don't want to talk about it." And then they stopped, leaving Olivia poised and panting on the precipice of climax. Frustration tinged with anger swept through the Musketeer. She didn't want to talk about it, didn't want to have to admit her shame to the beautiful woman behind her, but her need both physical and emotional was too great to deny. "She was a drunk! I don't think she noticed when I disappeared. I received word that she died a few years ago and my uncle took over the estate, such as was left."

Satisfied with OIivia's prompt return to compliance, Alexandra began to stroke her again, speeding up her firm touch. She leaned forward, bending Olivia across the chest and slid her second hand down her body. "And Abbie? Who is she?" She deliberately waited until Olivia was deep in a haze of arousal before bringing up her irksome rival for Olivia's bed. She forced her leather pants down to Olivia's knees with her free hand. A whimper of surprise delayed her reply as two of Alexandra's fingers slowly filled her.

"A Scot?" Olivia answered disingenuously. The fingers pulled out, leaving her empty and needy. "I met her when I was stationed up north, during the last war." Alexandra thrust forward again then added another finger. "She was the General's mistress." Alexandra's hand began to pump slowly. "But she said she liked me better and when she found out the truth about me, she liked me even better – she was the first woman I had ever been with."

"I'm the last woman you'll ever be with," Alexandra growled possessively. She bit down on the curve where Olivia's neck met her shoulder at the same time that she increased the pressure on her clit, sending her over the edge. The Musketeer convulsed against her and then slowly relaxed. As the last waves of her orgasm left her, she went limp against the lid of the chest, still pined by Alexandra's weight.


	16. Chapter 16

Liam frowned, staring at Elias. The man was alone, groaning under the weight of a tent pole as he sunk it into the ground. The Irishman had expected to see Captain Benoit aiding his friend. He had maneuvered the Musketeers closer to the Lady Cabot to make it easier to keep his eye on them and to keep Lady Cabot off balance. The more focused she was on her lover, the less she would notice the rest of the cogs turning and the pieces falling into place. Losing the Musketeer had not been his intention, though.

It had presented him with a unique opportunity – Captain Benoit was largely a closed book to him, which could soon prove to be problematic as Velez's plan unfolded; however the Captain's close companion might unwittingly shed some light on the situation. He stepped around the corner, heading toward the laboring Musketeer and offered to help. Elias smiled guilelessly and gratefully accepted the assistance.

#

Alexandra pressed her lips to the back of Olivia's neck, tasting her cooling sweat on her silky skin. She knew intellectually that she should release the other woman, that she should straighten up and let her pull her pants up. She knew that someone could walk in at any moment and find them in a compromising position she could never hope to come up with an adequate explanation for. What she wanted was something else entirely. She wanted to peel off her restrictive dress, tear off the rest of Olivia's clothes and throw her onto the floor. She wanted _more _Olivia.

A groan from beneath her refocused her on the Olivia currently beneath her, and not the one she was still ravaging inside of her head. She reluctantly slid her hands out from under the Musketeer, pulling up her pants as far as she could before straightening. The urge to kiss the still exposed expanse of Olivia's lower back overwhelmed her and she gladly gave in. Olivia murmured something unintelligible at the lingering contact. Then the feel of skin against skin was stolen as Alexandra stepped back, trying to recompose herself.

With the delicious weight lifted from her, Olivia pushed herself off the chest. She reached down, fumbling to pull her pants up over her hips and finish lacing them. There was a growing silence settling between them, and somehow after the wrenching admissions that she had given Alexandra, the empty air devoid of words was more terrifying. "Alexandra –" As she turned to face her lover, she folded her arms protectively over her chest, holding in the expanding emotions that were threatening to escape. The way that Alexandra had touched her, the truth that she had drawn out of her – Olivia felt marked by it. How could she go back? How could she let Alexandra marry someone else?

The blonde took a tentative step back toward Olivia. She reached out, brushing the palms of her hands down Olivia's biceps to settle on her elbows and draw her forward. "Olivia, I…" she murmured, pausing to try to draw the words out, "I love you."

Alexandra's words rocked Olivia to the core, nearly staggering her physically. She caught Alexandra's face between her hands and kissed her softly, allowing her lips to linger. The words bubbled up at the back of her mouth, trying to push their way out, but still she hesitated. Alexandra's blue eyes visibly searched hers. For each second that passed, the blue became cloudier.

"That means the world to me," Olivia finally muttered as she pulled away from Alexandra's grasp. She knew that she was kicking it all to pieces again – but there she was, stuck behind her walls and separated from the woman she loved. She winced in preparation for the emotional storm that was surely about to break.

"No," Alexandra's voice was firm as she closed the gap between herself and Olivia. "That is not an acceptable answer." Her brow furrowed. "You love me too. Just say it. Whatever is holding you back isn't as important as the way we feel about each other, what we have together." Her tone dropped, becoming a breathy plea, "I know you feel it too. I know you love me."

Alexandra wouldn't let Olivia hide – it was frightening. She fought down the urge to flee, but her muscles remained tense, straining against her self-control. Alexandra's blue gaze pinned her, like a bug under glass, drawing the words out of her.

"I love you too, Alexandra." Her voice shook. "I have to go." And she spun on her heels, retreating.

Alexandra would have been annoyed at her flight if it hadn't been so auspiciously timed. Before the blonde could even make it to the tent flap, the cloth was pushed aside to allow Liam Connors to enter. Her mind spun with the implications if he had arrived mere minutes earlier. To cover her deep blush and suddenly flustered state, she backed away from the entrance and turned quickly to open the chest and rummage through it.

"Where have you been? Captain Benoit had to set up my tent all by himself," she asked coldly over her shoulder.

#

Olivia crawled onto her sleeping roll, trying to be quiet and avoid waking up Elias. He had positioned his bed across the tent from her's, but he was a light sleeper. She rolled onto her side back to her friend, drawing the covers up over her shoulder. Just as she was about to drift off to sleep, Elias' voice startled her, "Where have you been?"

"Helping pitch the Lady Cabot's tent," Olivia replied softly without rolling over.

"Or was she helping you pitch a tent?" Elias growled. His annoyance was palpable.

"Fuck you," Olivia snapped, flopping onto her back so that she could roll her head to the side and glare at him.

"If you get caught with your dick in her nethers, you'll get strung up by your neck," he hissed. "And some of us will have our careers sunk. Are your sinful pleasures worth all that?"

"There hasn't been any sinful pleasuring, Elias. Just shut up and go to sleep!" Olivia wished she had something she could grab and throw at him. Luckily, he seemed to have decided to drop the issue and the two of them finally lapsed into sleep.

#

The next day Olivia couldn't focus on her duty. Every waking moment was consumed by Alexandra, though the blonde remained physically distant. As she brushed her horse and saddled it, she considered the logistics of whisking the Duc's daughter away. Should she try to sneak them both out while they were camped or during the day while the party was marching? Which would draw less attention? Unable to come to a satisfactory decision, she let her mind move on to what would come after.

Alexandra was accustomed to a particular lifestyle, and Olivia would need to find a way to provide some approximation of that. Perhaps she could present herself to her uncle and assume control of her family's estates. The idea had appeal; she would have to send a letter to her uncle to explore that path soon.

In a haze of speculation and planning, she didn't even notice that the column of horses and carriages had come to a halt. She glanced around and then frowned deeply – they were stopped at the border to the Spanish kingdom. Intellectually she had known they would be leaving France soon, but that would greatly complicate the extraction of Alexandra from her nuptials and the fact had little penetrated her preoccupation. She would now have to add the extra concern of recrossing the frontier after she rescued Alexandra.

She studied the guard post as they rode past it, memorizing the fortifications and the lay of the land around it. Admittedly, the borders were rather porous, certainly the Spanish did not have sufficient men to patrol every square mile of land, but the closer they stayed to the rode on their way back the more comfortable Alexandra would be. The guards lounged about their posts, feigning boredom at the impressive display of French power that rolled past.

#

"Two more days," Elias slapped his reins against his gloved palm. "Two more days and we can be free of this whole mess."

Olivia didn't respond. She wasn't certain of Elias was simply trying to make small talk or goading her again. His displeasure at her continued interaction with the Lady Cabot had not abated – if anything, it had grown as he had time to brood on it. She felt bad – guilty even – knowing that when she stole away with Alexandra, Elias' career would be ruined. Amongst the Palace's Musketeers, there was no secret to how close Elias and Olivier were. As Captain Benoit had risen through the ranks, he had matched it by seeing to the steady promotion of his good friend. The disgrace of their association would certainly sink any hope of Elias becoming a Captain and with it, his ability to support a wife of appropriate rank.

"Two more days and we'll be in the middle of a new mess – a society mess." Olivia finally grumbled in response.

"Another palace full of pretty maids at least," Elias chuckled. His thoughts were almost audible – maybe a pretty maid or two would distract Captain Benoit from his ill-fated romance.

"Another palace full of pompous aristocrats," Olivia replied, no humor in her own voice. "And the maids in Spain are famous for the oozing sores between their legs."

"Right," Elias sighed. "Of course, its going to be horrible."

#

Liam ran the tips of his forefinger and thumb together contemplatively. Elias had provided some useful information to be sure, but none of it sufficient to explain some of the eccentricities of manner that Liam had noted recently as he skulked around the Musketeers camp. The Captain never bathed with the other men, instead he insisted on washing from a bowl in his tent – while this wasn't strange for an officer of higher rank it was an odd affectation for the Captain to assume. The Captain never used the common latrine either, but Liam had been unwilling to follow him to find out what exactly he did about that issue. The possibility that Captain Benoit was some sort of strange stickler for hygiene had occurred to Liam, but there didn't seem to be any other indication of such a malady – he allowed his clothes to be washed by the cleaning women, he worked hard and did not seem to bathe overmuch. The information he had learned from Elias also did little to illuminate the Musketeer's appeal to the well-bred Lady.

Elias had unwittingly provided the key to destroying the Musketeer, should he get in the way of Velez's machinations however – which caused Liam to chuckle softly. Alexandra glanced over at the sound suddenly breaking the quiet of the carriage, arching one elegant brow. He fought down the urge to sneer – he would be rid of her haughty presence soon enough.


End file.
